Sephiroth and the Remnants
by My Dark Rosaline
Summary: CRACK, AU. “Ha ha, here I go to see the Great Sephiroth. Up you all.”
1. For The Reunion

**Title**: Sephiroth and the Remnants

**Authors**: shadowededen and mydarkrosaline

**Fandom**: Compilation of FFVII

**Characters**: A worried Rufus, a put upon Tseng, a Reeve desperately needing some hot chocolate, a Vincent desperately needing some eye drops, three SHM desperately needing divine inspiration, and a Mysterious Voice.

**Warning**: Language, innuendo, butchery of characters.

**Word Count**: 4128

**Disclaimer: **We do not own FFVII or any of the other titles that spawned from it. After reading this, I am sure you will be glad that we don't and Squaresoft do. No profit is being made from this.

**Author's Notes**: This is ridiculous. Really. We know this is crack. We know it's ripping the series. Hopefully you'll get a laugh from it!

**CHAPTER 01 – FOR THE REUNION.**

From behind the highest windows in Midgar, Rufus surveyed what was unofficially his kingdom. Or had been. Once, when they'd had the likes of Loveless signed to them, they'd been omnipotent in Gaia. The people listened to what the Shin-Ra wanted them to. They worshipped who the Shin-Ra told them to worship.

The lights twinkled back at him, and he spent a moment glowering at them accusatorily. Sephiroth was out there somewhere, had been out there somewhere all this time, the key to their success, to their power.

But five years of searching, and not a trace of the silver haired god had been found, not even by his best. Five years, and in that time Reeve's WRO had snatched up the likes of Aerith Gainsborough, and what did Shin-Ra have? A couple of lack-luster copies and little else.

This had never happened in his father's time. His father had turned Shin-Ra from a small time, small town album store into a company so powerful it was deemed more powerful than the mayor's government.

That in itself was insult enough; that his father could do it where he could not. It wasn't his fault that the old man had suffered a heart attack, or, at least, nobody that really mattered had pinned it on him.

The key was finding Sephiroth. He should have been an easy target; after all, it wasn't like he could go unrecognized. But here they were, five years after his disappearance, and nothing.

He eyed the documents on his desk. In the haze of numbers he could easily, too easily, pick out the meaning. Sales slumping. Income slipping. Everything, essentially, deteriorating, just as it had been for those five years.

"I'm worried, Tseng."

There was a movement from behind Rufus - a very slight one, but noticeable enough because the man had been standing so still beforehand. Tseng was perfect at standing still and silent, unlike Reno or Elena, and he was unobtrusive where Rude was threatening. He was a perfect bodyguard and right-hand man.

His hand had shifted to his collar. He straightened it needlessly before clasping his hands behind his back once more, expressionless and stony.

"There is no need to worry, sir," he said, smoothly, "The operation went without a hitch; no one knows that the prostitutes were killed, let alone that they choked on your -"

As he spoke, the sullen expression, which sat upon Rufus' face, had smoothed itself into something like a smile. It was as amused as Rufus was ever really going to look, and as he leaned upon his desk, the tranquility of it made him look all the more sinister.

"That's not what I'm worried about, Tseng."

* * *

Reeve sighed, closing the circuitry on the Cait Sith doll and zipping him back up. There seemed to be some kind of malfunction in the little robot cat's personality. Rather than be gently jibing at Reeve, as he had intended for the show, Cait seemed to have adopted a taste for utterly mocking people and insulting them quite badly, all in a broad Scots accent. He'd tried to fix it, but he wasn't entirely sure how it had happened.

Besides, his mind was on more important things tonight.

He sighed again, glancing down at the promotional below him. It showed three silver-haired men, aged from their early twenties down to - Good God; it really had to be - their mid-teens. The words "THE REMNANTS" were emblazed across the top, and the three seemed to be trying their best to look dark and alluring. Which they did, there was no doubt there.

The problem didn't lie with the Remnant's _look_, however, oh dear me no, but with their music. They were _good_, certainly passable or Reeve wouldn't have signed them, but they lacked a certain something to push them to the top. Certain _oomph_. A kind of... _zazz_. So far they had gotten by on the tails of their brother's career, but they had not the power of the Great Sephiroth. People had hoped that the (admittedly surprising, for Sephiroth had always been rumoured to be an only child) rising of his brothers would bring the silver-haired god back, but no.

A happy little tune tinkled from the radio, and Reeve reached over to switch it off. He had no problem with Aerith's music per sae, but he was the one who had signed her and he had heard almost every variant on how flowers were wonderful, and even her lovely, sweet voice could get a little grating at times.

She was his star, however, rising almost to the height that the Great Sephiroth had reached while with the Shinra, and he couldn't argue with that.

He looked up at Cait again. The cat's little black eyes stared right back at him. He could _really_ go a mug of hot chocolate about now.

"Vincent?" he said, sighing, "I'm worried."

As was his style, Vincent seemed to materialize from the shadows themselves, the type of illusion which one watched whilst their mind supplied accompanying music in the form of a few notes from an electric organ. The cape he wore added to the effect; it gave a theatrical swoosh when Vincent tucked his phone into a pocket, the light gleaming off his claws.

For a man that put a lot of energy into wanting to be unnoticed, he sure made himself look conspicuous. When he spoke, however, his accent - perhaps disappointingly - was not the expected Slavic, but simply rather gruff. Between the drugs and the comas in his early years, he'd acquired quite the rasp.

"What do you need me to do, Reeve?"

Reeve blinked, forgetting that he had Vincent take care of his dirty work for him for a moment and wondering what on Gaia the other man was talking about. The remembrance dawned on him with all the inevitability of a tax refund, of course, and he shook his head, offering a tired smile and a small chuckle.

"Hold your horses there, Vincent! There's nothing like that that needs to be done!" He clasped his hands together and twiddled his thumbs briefly, eyes flicking back down to the promotional. Those poor boys - because they really were just boys, especially that youngest one, look at him, he hadn't even properly lost the softness from his face - were trying their best, but they were slipping from the public's eye. Their first single, Velvet Nightmare, had done well, but the others, such as Mother's Boxed Head didn't seem all that popular (not that Reeve could really blame people, the thoughts behind that one were pretty strange).

But anyway. Those poor boys. He sighed again, looking up at Vincent wonderingly. Did he know that he looked like one of those ridiculous forty-something year old Goths?

As soon as the thought came into Reeve's head, he pushed it aside. Not only was it irrelevant and just plain mean, but also Vincent had a rather large gun that he often caressed with very sharp claws, and he had always seemed to be slightly psychic - around Reeve at least.

"I'm just worried about..." he picked up the promotional and held it out to Vincent. Really. Poor boys. They were crashing, slowly but surely, and Reeve would have to drop them and then who else would they turn to, because the Shinra were evil - or at least, very naughty - and it would crush their poor spirits and _and_...

Vincent was silent whilst Reeve languished in his own altruism. His expression was absolutely devoid of any form of actual expression, which raised the question of whether or not it was really a valid expression. Regardless of such arguments, Vincent's crimson eyes rested upon Reeve's form, until the contacts itched so much he had to raise his hand to press against them.

He recovered just as Reeve looked round at him then, and took the poster from his hand to glance at it impassively, because impassive was Vincent's middle name (actually it was Ferdinand after an uncle, but impassive was more fitting).

His eyes flicked to Reeve again. Thankfully, he was at a distance where even Reeve, specially attuned to sense signs of suffering as he was, would not see the bloodshot.

"Reeve," he said, firmly, arms folding across his chest.

_... And they wouldn't be able to get back up after it and oh no it would just be so awful -_

"Mm? Sorry, Vincent?"

"Shut your inner monologue up," he finished flatly, placing the promotional back on the desk. The eyes of the Remnants stared back at the room as whole entreatingly, begging for their big break, but willing to settle for a bit of praise.

* * *

Kadaj forgot his own strength sometimes, and had been amazed when the pic had gone soaring through the air and landed outside with a tinkle of breaking glass. Granted he did insist upon playing with a heavy, metal pic that he totally hadn't stolen from Genesis' coffin, no one could prove it, but he had been impressed that he had thrown it with enough force to send it sailing out of the window.

He had been yelling at his brothers, who were too busy goofing around not taking the Remnants _seriously_ enough, and now he was stomping around outside, flicking back curls from his eyes and scouring the ground for any sign of the blasted thing. His sweet face was twisted in a petulant scowl, and rather than looking as sexy and as powerful as _Him_, he simply looked young and desperate.

He just wanted this band to _work_, dammit. He just really wanted them to go places. He wanted everyone to know how damn important Mother was to everyone and no one seemed to be taking them seriously. Almost as bad, no one was taking _him_ seriously either! That Reeve guy had smiled at him and offered to make him hot chocolate when he was offering Yazoo and Loz other stuff. Granted Yazoo turned down the alcoholic beverages because he was allergic to some shit in them and Loz wanted hot chocolate, but the fucking _principal_ was there.

The pic caught the sun and glittered prettily up at him. With a snarl he scooped it up and turned to stomp back into the garage, where his two brothers were still snorting and sniggering with each other rather than practicing their songs.

From within the garage came music, a few merry strains of piano and a lilting drumbeat to accompany it. It was altogether very pleasant, in a twee, Aerith Gainsborough sort of manner, and it lacked both the haunting melancholy that Yazoo favoured and Loz's desired brutality altogether. Both siblings looked up, as Kadaj stomped in, not that the way he entered was particularly surprising. In fact, both looked decidedly more sinister, hawks waiting for the prey to approach within swooping distance.

Well, Yazoo did. Loz looked like a puppy eyeing a chew toy it knew could only be meant for it.

"We wrote a song whilst you were out, brother," Yazoo said, in that quiet, soft way of his which made it seem like he had this private joke only he knew the answer to, "Would you like to hear it?"

Kadaj eyed his brother warily. He hadn't liked the Aerith Gainsborough sound that they had been making, which made him pretty damn sure that he wouldn't like whatever the hell they wanted him to listen to. Aerith was such a happy-go-lucky little shit - Gaia wouldn't be pleased until Kadaj had spread his dark word about Mother. Copying Aerith's style was almost as bad as thinking about Him.

Still, there was always the chance that his brothers had been doing something right. He licked his lips and palmed the pic from hand to hand, taking some solace in how heavy and warm it was.

"Oh yeah?" He sneered, because that was his look nowadays anyway, "Sure, go play it."

If anything, the dangerous quality upon Yazoo's placid face intensified. He flexed his gloved fingers, ran them over the keys, and then sat poised to play, whilst Loz's lips were sealed tightly together in concentration, drumsticks ready.

Yazoo's fingers glided over the keys with a skill that was almost virtuoso. Every note was crystal clear and charming, and blended impeccably with Loz's surprisingly delicate drumbeat. The song conjured up images of summer days spent in meadows under a clear blue sky, all birdsong and soft breeze, so perfect that Yazoo wasn't even complaining about how all this outdoor time was aggravating his hay fever. When the eldest brother sang, his voice was as clear and lovely as the water from the stream in those meadows was.

"It wasn't the grass that tickled your ass, it was my finger"

A pause, and Loz chimed in, his tone blundering through with all the affection and love in his heart.

"I'll never forget the day that we met -"

Kadaj's face had been growing redder and redder since the first few notes. It was only a matter of time before he screeched "Shut up!" as his brothers, arms flailing, the pic making another arc through the air, thankfully not passing through any windows, but closer to the door that lead to the rest of the house. It landed with a small thud, sending up a crater of dust and probably killing a good few micro organisms or something.

With a growl, he stomped over to it and picked it up, crushing it in his hands. "If it's not fucking copying Cloud fucking-emo-shit Strife, you guys are pulling retard crap like this! Are you forgetting that we're in this for Mother? We want to make it big for Mother!" He snapped, a definite screech intertwining with the rest of his wails, "But if you aren't going to take this seriously..."

Sobered by the power of Kadaj's speech, and the wanton destruction caused by the flying plectrum, Yazoo and Loz looked at their brother apologetically, then to their respective instruments. Admittedly, it seemed like they were trying to definitely not look at each other, because that might lead to overt revelry of their victory, but at least Yazoo, to his credit, managed not to sound particularly amused. He didn't even snigger.

"Of course we're taking it seriously, brother."

Loz nodded fervently to verify this statement as the complete and utter truth, "We just wanted to make you laugh," he explained, somewhat meeker than usual, "We're in it for Mother too, Kadaj."

There was a long pause. Loz and Yazoo risked looking at each other and managed not to start laughing. When Yazoo looked at Kadaj again, he was cowed, calm, and collected.

"Besides," he said quietly, watching his youngest brother intently, "You're the one who copied one of Cloud's riffs."

Kadaj coloured again. "Shut up," he snapped, glancing over at Souba. He often felt that the double-necked guitar was his only friend in the room, but it offered no words of consolation or comfort. Of course it couldn't; it was just a guitar, but it was better hoping for that rather than admitting he was impressed by Cloud Strife and have really discreetly tried to copy some of his music.

He looked back at his brother's eyes, both green and feral, and both staring at him. Well, all right, Loz's weren't entirely feral, but still. He focused on Yazoo and lifted his chin. "I'm front man; I can try to see how that sort of thing sounds. Anyway, you -"

At that moment, there was a shrill ring as the phone went off. Kadaj dropped his gaze from Yazoo and looked at the door that lead to the house.

"Huh," he said, distracted, "Anyone expecting a call?"

Yazoo was spared having to embarrass his brother further with what doubtlessly would have been a cutting remark by the cry of the phone, and as one he and Loz followed Kadaj's line of sight to stare at the door. The elder gave a nonchalant little shrug, a mere shift of the shoulders, and turned to Kadaj. "I don't believe so," he answered, because he was acutely aware of the fact that he was the one who received the least phone calls in this house.

Loz was equally nonplussed, but rather than vocalize this, had started staring at his feet and wiggling them within their slippers. They were big pink rabbits with big red mouths full of big white fangs, and he claimed that they helped him drum. It still didn't make them let him wear them on stage.

Yazoo shrugged again to Kadaj, looking quizzical.

Kadaj frowned, but he left the garage anyway. He couldn't help the way his heart pounded - he was almost afraid that it was going to be Reeve - or more likely one of his underlings from the WRO - telling him that they couldn't sell them anymore, or that they were dropping them, or maybe even (and here was a flash of hope) - they'd hit number one and were simply raking it in and spreading the word of Mother all over the world.

He hoped beyond all hope that it was the last one. He and his brothers had been trying their best - he knew they were, even if Loz and Yazoo did goof around and try and talk back to him - and they deserved this.

The phone was in the kitchen. Kadaj passed their white fridge with the magnets all arranged until they spelled 'loz is the greatest', and, suppressing an urge to arrange them into 'loz the great tit' (he'd get rid of the s, maybe sacrifice an extra t from 'kadaj for the win', but Loz would just think he meant the bird anyway), he reached out to pick up the receiver, heart in his throat.

"...Hello?" he asked.

His blood ran cold at the voice that answered him.

"Kadaj," The Blood Curdling Voice said, because It was the type of voice that demanded the use of capitals, "How have you been? Working hard, it seems. Not quite hard enough though, hm?" The Voice was indulging Itself in a Monologue, and when It did that you just knew not to intervene. Kadaj was given no option but to listen – The Voice did that to you. It beat you into submission with every syllable, and left you browbeaten but oddly satisfied about it.

"It's been a while," The Voice Acknowledged, as if that was just a smidgen of what It was aware of, "I hope your brothers have been looking after you, you are the youngest after all." The Voice liked stating the obvious, too. But when It did, It made it feel like it had never _been _obvious, as if It knew _everything_ and you knew _nothing_ and It was for the best if you just hung on Its every word.

"I've been looking at your promos, Kadaj. You need something for that hair. GHDs, perhaps."

The line went Dead. This also had a capital, because it was The Voice that had made it so.

Kadaj held the receiver to his ear for about a minute longer, listening to the dial tone trying to remind him that it really shouldn't be off the hook anymore. He wasn't just surprised; he was struck dumb - dumber than Loz, that time Yazoo had taped his mouth shut. He didn't know what to do.

Of course he'd heard The Voice before. When he had been younger he'd often tried to beat his brothers off the phone so he could talk to It. He'd used to spend hours trying to practice The Voice, to get Its authoritative and overpowering tone and sound, to use It to get what he needed and wanted. He'd always ended up sounding like Aerith trying to sing one of Barret's songs, but he'd still always tried The Voice. It had been the best voice in the world.

But one day The Voice had stopped getting into contact. Kadaj had been eleven then. Now, at the still-technically-jailbait-if-you're-not-in-Britain age of sixteen (but he was _almost_ seventeen, sixteen and three quarters, to be exact), he had heard The Voice once more. He felt frozen to the spot, and he also had a very uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, like there were live eels wriggling around inside of him. Exploring his organs, like a internal -

He realized that he had been holding the receiver to his ear for a few minutes and suddenly slammed it on the wall, staring at it like it was a poisonous spider, or possibly Loz's pygmy chocobo.

Swallowing, he reached up and tugged on a lock of somehow still curly hair. GHDs _were_ on his wishlist - how had The Voice known...?

"Kadaj?"

Loz had poked his head around the door, and was looking at him with no small amount of worry. "Everything okay? It was a good call?"

"Uh, yeah," he replied, pulling himself together and drawing himself up to his really unimpressive full height. He just reached Loz's collarbone. "It was fine. I'm coming back in." he rolled the plectrum in him hands again, trying to ignore the eels and the horrible icy feeling that was slipping through him. Loz was easy to placate; already he was nodding and casting Kadaj slightly worried looks and shuffling his stupid rabbit slippers against the floor, but Yazoo would ask Questions. He always ended up doing so.

"Who was that?" The eldest brother asked abruptly, virtually on cue, as Loz somehow managed to half-pad, half-bound into the room, Kadaj following in his wake. He watched the latter with a gaze that would not relent, his expression calm but perhaps not devoid of concern. "Well?" He pressed, merciless in his conquest for knowledge, because Yazoo had always been of the mind that if Kadaj knew something you didn't, one of the world's delicate balances had been upturned.

Loz, smiling helpfully, looked at Yazoo from behind his drums and supplied, with all the sagaciousness of a guru on the subject; "It was a good call."

Yazoo blinked at him. If _Loz _knew something you didn't, it was apt to presume that Ifrit had just indulged himself in a snowball fight. His eyes narrowed, and slid from Loz to Kadaj, as though they were plotting his ultimate downfall and were about to execute it.

"And who was it, brother?" He asked, with a twinge of desperation.

Kadaj looked into Yazoo's eyes for a moment, wondering if it would be worth it to lie to him, know that he knew he was lying, and then chase him around the house with a peanut butter sandwich until he dropped it, or to just tell the truth. After all, as much as he enjoyed the smarmy brother's suffering, Yazoo was also family, and he had as much of a right to know about The Voice as Kadaj had.

He eventually opted on the latter. He didn't think they had any peanut butter left.

"It was..." he sighed, dropping his gaze and running his hands over one of Souba's necks, "_Him_, all right? _He_ called." Loz gave him a surprised look, but he chose to ignore it. Loz's hurt face was a little heartening, though, "Being all... cryptic and 'It's been a while', nothing about how we were, just rubbing it in we weren't doing well, not even offering for a get together, all right? Didn't miss anything."

Yazoo stared at him for a moment, then remembered himself, and tranquility washed over his expression once more. He said nothing, didn't really _need _to say anything; none of them did. An uneasy pause had confined them as they were, almost ripped the breath from their throats. It did that to you, that stagnant, electric pause. _He _did that to you.

What annoyed Yazoo the most at that point was not the apparent lack of care in regards to them, but the rusting of creative flow that it had caused (Yazoo was comfortable enough in his pretentiousness to use a phrase like that without ceremony). Yet another day that would go by where nothing got done, no new material, not even an idea.

Oh, well. What else was new?

The three of them were drawn sharply from their respective reveries by the abrasive sound of scraping metal, as the garage door started to swing up. It flooded the room with daylight, so bright against the darkness they had been used to that it drove you to squinting, half-blind. In the white blaze of light was a black figure, tall and statuesque, hair flowing in the breeze, coat fluttering, and arms outstretched, bass in one hand.

"Did somebody call for a Reunion?"

It was The Voice that spoke. His Voice.


	2. Saviour

**Title**: Sephiroth and the Remnants

**Authors:** shadowededen and mydarkrosaline

**Fandom**: Compilation of FFVII

**Characters**: An oh-so-godly Sephiroth, three giddily disgruntled Remnants, early morning Tifa with hot gossip, Cloud and his beloved pineapple, a downright flabbergasted Reeve, a father mourning, and a screaming Yuffie.

**Warning**: Language, innuendo, butchery of characters.

**Word Count**: 7843

**Disclaimer**: See Chapter 01.

**Author's Notes**: This is going less crack and more like a faintly humourous AU, ohnoez.

**CHAPTER 02 – SAVIOUR**

There he was: the silver-haired god; the Great Sephiroth himself; the General of the Music Industry (and, to be fair, of the Wutai War), a bass in one hand and a smirk on his lips. His very presence overpowered the collective force of the Remnants, who felt that they ought to look away, ashamed, as if they could not rest their eyes on him without causing great insult.

Kadaj, of course, _wanted_ to cause great insult. But even still, the sight of his older brother struck him dumb, just as the sound of his voice had. He felt paralysed for a moment, even the eels in his belly ceasing in their writhing. Sephiroth's presence did that. His voice alone had harmonics in it that made the spiders in the dark corners of the room stop what they were doing and stand tall and attentive. His visage made even the dust motes stop to stare at him and flare like a tiny supernova before passing from sight again. And Kadaj… had silly curly hair and a t-shirt that had a hot chocolate stain on it. He couldn't have felt more overpowered than if he'd somehow managed to find himself in the Group Room of the infamous Honeybee Inn.

His brothers were in a similar state of shock. Even Loz seemed to be acutely aware, for once, that his slippers looked stupid, and Yazoo seemed to be having some second thoughts about all the dust in the garage and his ability to handle it. No one wanted to look stupid before this man, this _god_, this… brother.

They hadn't seen him for five years. All three of them wanted to ask _where_ and _why _and even _why now_, but none of them wished to speak. It was Sephiroth's silence, and only he could break it.

And Sephiroth had no intention of doing so, not just yet. His gaze slid from sibling to sibling, holding their gaze for a moment before moving on – you couldn't even attempt resisting its pull. Oh, but for all he looked only at the eyes, they just knew he saw everything else. The hot chocolate stain. The fanged bunny slippers. The sneeze Yazoo was trying to hold in.

They made, all in all, for a rather pitiful sight. Then again, the glorious vastness of the sky was a pitiful sight compared to the Great Sephiroth. That was why the called him Great.

As it happened, The Voice was even more potent when you were watching him speak. You could feel It reverberate in the air, feel It bending the surroundings to Its will by beating them bruised and bloody and leaving them in Its wake. It was the kind of voice that had Power, and knew it. When Sephiroth spoke, the silence was shattered into dust, and wafted through the air.

"Quite the greeting," he mused, one silver eyebrow (so perfectly shaped as to be metrosexual, or 'modern gentleman', only not because it would kill you with a single flick) arched over one emerald eye, and he watched them all for another achingly long moment. The Eyes were just as merciless as The Voice.

Yazoo and Loz tore their gaze away to watch Kadaj expectantly. All those times he'd decreed his power as front man, all those times he'd said he was the most important. All those times now swept forth to pull his pants down and bite him on the ass, and maybe laugh a bit about the size of his weewee (It was Loz, after all). It was Kadaj's place to speak, and for once, they were glad about it.

Kadaj cast a sideways glare at his brothers (quite a feat, considering they were in front of him and in opposite directions) that, while it wouldn't have curdled blood as Sephiroth's would, it certainly would have made short work of milk. It was the type of gaze that told a person it was well aware that they were allergic to shellfish, or that they really liked a certain pet, and that it knew just the way to exploit that information. Kadaj was, after all, a bit of a sadistic little shit, as well as a whiner.

He looked back at his brother, and quailed slightly. Sephiroth had clearly understood that they branded Kadaj the leader, and was watching him with an offhand curiosity, as if he were a mildly interesting television show. And a mildly amusing one – maybe something like House or Ugly Betty. It was something about the mouth. It wasn't smiling or sneering, but there was a hovering kind of feeling about the corners, as if they were just going to lift.

It was that which forced Kadaj into speaking – not before he ran his tongue over his dry lips and floundered for words, of course.

"We – uh – we –well – we didn't expect you," he eventually stuttered magnificently, and picked up on the slightly change in Sephiroth's expression. Maybe House had said something nasty to a patient, or Wilhelmina had just quipped a stinging remark to Betty. He rallied as best he could.

"Where the hell have you been?" He growled, but it came out more of a whine, "Five fucking years!" he added, not doing much for his badassitude and an incredible amount for emo, "You were gone five fucking years! Why are you back now? What the fuck do you want?"

Sephiroth watched his little outburst unfazed, because, of course, he'd been. It didn't matter how long it had been, they were attuned to each other thanks to Mother; he knew precisely what to expect. For a moment, his eyes were downcast, as though in some parody of shame. When they rose to meet Kadaj's again, they were sparking with something that you didn't want to particularly read, and his smile was oddly benevolent.

As quickly as it had come, the look faded from his face to be replaced with something distant and dreamy. He tilted his head to look at the garage door, with all the peace of a crazy dedicated monk.

"A journey," he said, and The Voice was soft, even plaintive, but no left powerful. It was, however, going for another Monologue. "A voyage of self-discovery, where I could truly explore my creativity… Mother at my side, within me."

He too was allowed to be pretentious and really messed up, mainly because he had the skill to back it up. The few who'd ever tried to be more pretentious than Sephiroth (read: Genesis) had learned the hard way to never bother _trying _to outdo Sephiroth with anything (read: got run down by a hit and run involving a drop top Porsche, which incidentally was _just _like the one parked outside, but that was just coincidence, because Sephiroth said so and you don't argue with Sephiroth).

"I am free of the turmoil I used to be trapped in." He took a deep, long breath of the musty air in the garage. "I knew I had to come back. Come back to my family and take my place, as Mother wishes."

There was a long pause. It was, once again, one of Sephiroth's pauses.

"Besides," he went on, a little less calmly, "I've seen what Aerith Gainsborough is doing. She thinks that she can be better than what I am; that she is what I should have been. But she's wrong…"

He was now virtually talking to himself. He held the bass like a weapon, his grip tightening on the neck.

"But no. _I'm _the one they call Great. _I _am more than she could ever be; that fraud…"

He trailed off, and then looked back at his brothers; as if he'd just noticed they were there (but, of course, being Sephiroth, was unsurprised regardless). "But it's alright now," he said with boundless munificence drenching his voice, "I have returned, and will claim what is mine. What is ours. What is Mother's."

The brothers listened to the Monologue as if their very lives depended on hanging on every word in it. As has been so often stated in the past page or so, you had to do that when The Voice spoke. When it ended, however, there was a moment of silence, and the last word hung the air with a pregnant feeling, like a coiled spring.

Kadaj was obviously the one to act first. His face had gone white (whiter than usual, anyway) and his eyes were bulging. His mouth opened and closed like a denizen of the deep (though not the Ghost Ship, he wasn't cool enough to be like that, no matter what he attested) for a while, until he burst out with.

"You don't – you can't – you don't want to _join the Remnants_, do you?" He hissed, flecks of spit flying everywhere, "I mean – we don't _need_ you! We're doing fine by ourselves! Right brothers?!" He swung around on his brothers, eyes blazing, crimson fires burning on his pallid cheeks.

"… No."

It was Loz. Kadaj swung around on him, face livid, but Loz shrugged from behind his drums, looking a little apprehensive. "Well, we're not," he said, dropping his gaze from Kadaj to his feet. Sephiroth demanded his attention, but he could look away from Kadaj. "And he never said he wanted to join the band, anyway. Just that he wanted…"

"… to claim what is ours and Mother's, brother." Drawled Yazoo, stifling a sneeze and, typically, taking Sephiroth's side.

Kadaj blustered, "But that's what he _means_. He's going to – going to –"

"What?" Yazoo's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Take your place as front man?"

Kadaj's mouth hung open. Sephiroth, incidentally, was not forgotten, but standing there, looking great and glorious in the dusty garage, like a King in a slum.

"… I thought you were in this for Mother, Kadaj," said Loz, quietly.

"I _am_!" Insisted the youngest, "But he – _he_…!"

Sephiroth was content enough to let them bandy words amongst themselves, even going as far as to start moving around the room, peering at the dusty piles of junk that littered the place. The only thing worth noting was a promo poster which Loz (as if it would be anyone else), using macaroni, had turned into a picture of a mariachi band, where Kadaj wielded an acoustic guitar made of some tagliatelle and a few bits of farfalle.

"Is our eldest brother," Yazoo went on in his stead, "And a multi-billion selling artist with a fan base which stretches all over Gaia, who have all been hoping deep down he wasn't dead."

Loz took this opportunity to give one of those sage nods he was so good at.

"It's good business," he remarked, sounding remarkably like somebody out of the Apprentice, only less faux-Machiavellian and more tentatively giddy.

Sephiroth replaced one of Loz's conchiglie maracas with an air of detached care and then turned to look at the trio again, only to find (well, he'd obviously known already) that they were all watching him again, expectant in three different ways – furiously so, hopeful, and curious.

"I will be your bassist and vocalist," he announced, ignoring Kadaj's 'about-to-have-aneurism' face, since it wasn't exactly an uncommon expression from him, "Kadaj will have guitar and backing vocals, along with Yazoo, who will also be dealing with piano and keyboard. Loz, you will remain on drums."

A long pause. They were going to become even more common in the Remnant household.

"Yay!"

Loz burst into applause, grinning ear to ear. Sephiroth allowed himself a smile at that, throwing the end of his bass cable to Kadaj so he might have the honour of plugging it into the amp.

"The Remnants will be unstoppable!"

"Not the Remnants, Loz," Sephiroth said gently, still smiling, "We need to let people know we've changed."

Loz's expression went blank.

"But who will we be?"

"Oh, you'll remain the Remnants," the eldest brother answered, straightening, fingers moving to the strings of the bass. "Together, my brothers, we'll be _Sephiroth_ and the Remnants."

* * *

It was never quite discussed as to how she came across them, but somehow Tifa acquired a spare key to the apartment of all of her close friends. They could never quite remember giving it to her but they knew that they _had,_ the evidence was there that they _had,_ sort of like a friend who persuades you to get a tattoo you'll end up hating when you're drunk. The hows, the whys, everything flits away the next morning apart from the hard evidence.

Tifa's set of keys, therefore, resembled those of a jailer. She discerned them by colour, and the one she used for Cloud was a pale blue tone. It was his apartment in Sector 3 that she was bounding along to, a little crevice of a place Cloud managed to scrape by in. It wasn't even 9AM yet – something he would doubtlessly hate her for, because whilst he got up early enough, he disliked being woken.

He couldn't stay mad at her for long though; nobody could. It was in her carefree, ever bright smile, in the swing in her walk, even in the often too high for human ears voice.

She'd brought him breakfast anyway, so it wasn't like he could really complain. As she barged into his apartment, sat the bag on the counter, and trotted over to the bedroom door in her traditional four inch heels, she heard him snoring gently.

Cloud Strife's room, for all it was different than it had been when he was in Nibelheim, had not changed. The walls were _smothered _in pictures of the Great Sephiroth, bookcases devoted to photobooks and CDs and even a couple of books released by theorists about where he might be. He had remained a hardcore fanboy even now, and beneath a ceiling from which the General stared down at them, he slept wrapped in his blanket, his head half-buried in the pillow, hair only slightly more tousled than it was when he was awake, feet sticking out the bottom of the bed.

Tifa considered a variety of options. She could yank the quilt off him. She could strip to her lingerie and clamber into bed with him, but Aerith had bust a gut last time she did that, the antsy dyke that she was. She could even touch one of the pictures of Sephiroth, because that was like ringing a church bell beside his ear.

In the end, she settled for grabbing him by the ankles and giving a hard yank. It was an awakening most men would kill for.

And Cloud would kill her for it, at some point. He gave a strangled yell as he was pulled abruptly into the waking world. He kicked out with his leg, breaking the grip, and was still muzzy with sleep when the telltale pitch of Tifa's laughter rang through his ears. He groaned.

Raising a hand to his hair, he pushed a few errant spikes out of his eyes and glared up at her. She grinned back down at him from over her breasts.

"Tifa," he growled, voice still a little scratchy from sleep, "What do you think you're doing?"

It was a relief that she hadn't stripped again. Not that Cloud wouldn't have enjoyed it, but when Aerith walked in on a barely dressed Tifa wrestling with a half-asleep, barely dressed Cloud, she'd pretty much flipped her shit. Any headway Cloud had made with her in the putting-out department had been lost.

He pushed himself back onto his bed, glaring at her sullenly through still sandy eyes.

"Wakey wakey, sleepy-head! Rise and shine! It is a bright and be-yoo-tee-ful day and you and I are going shopping! I brought breakfast!"

Shopping was indeed on the agenda. Shopping with Cloud was almost as bad as shopping alone, but Barret was busy, and the rest of her fashion inclined friends had been otherwise engaged. Thus, here she was, scraping the barrel, because Cloud's noncommittal 'fine', 'hm', or shrug treatment was better than nothing as far as she was concerned.

Disappearing from the room, she returned what seemed like mere sweet tranquil _moments _later with a bowl of yoghurt, granola, and the pineapple which would make Cloud see it as worth eating.

"How are you today?" She rattled off, shotgun quick and just as inescapable, far too bright for someone who'd been forced to wake up at what, on a Saturday, was considered an ungodly hour.

It was truly amazing that, as hot and as nice as Tifa was, someone could really want to punch her in the face. It was quite clear that Cloud wanted to. His usual deadpan expression was fixed into one of mute disapproval and anger, but he said nothing. He wasn't the type, after all.

His face also conveyed what he thought about shopping: unimpressed, slightly pissed-off, and mainly irritated to be woken so early on a Saturday. At least he had rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The Sandman could go piss up a chimney as far as he was concerned.

"Fine," he said, deadpan as he could, but it was followed by a quick "Thanks" when Tifa pushed the breakfast towards him. He didn't eat it at first, just spent a moment looking at it, and then up at Tifa. "You?"

There wasn't malice as such in his voice, but it was one that certainly hoped she'd been bitten by something nasty in her bed that had woken her up.

No such luck, of course, he'd known that already. Her smile widened and she stretched loosely, before coming to sit beside Cloud on his bed, inserting herself right into his Personal Space and evidently not going anywhere. Those who knew Tifa were generally united despite any differences in their knowledge that she was probably the most invasive person they'd ever had the joy of meeting. She weeviled her way into places you didn't want her, and then you grew so accustomed to it that you knew if she wasn't there you'd miss it.

"I'm great!" She chirped, eyeing the poster above their heads. Sephiroth naked to the waist. Shiva, Cloud, who _were _you trying to kid? "Been for a jog, and then sorted out breakfast, then dropped by to get you."

Disapproving of his lack of enthusiasm, she wafted the bowl beneath his nose, "Come on, eat eat eat, I used extra pineapple especially for you! There's dried crap in there as well! Got to start the day with a good wholesome breakfast, Cloud!"

Cloud glared at her, but he did take a spoonful of the stuff. It was actually not as annoying to do so as he made out; he loved pineapple and Tifa knew it. But she wasn't going to be forgiven so easily. Nor was he going to make the shopping experience an informative or easily shared one.

He caught her eye and followed her gaze up, seeing the promo poster of Sephiroth's last album that he had secured to his ceiling, mainly because there was no more space on the walls. His gaze levelled on her again and he ate more of the breakfast.

Suppressing an urge to say 'And can I end the day without you here', he just shrugged in reply to her. Silence never lasted long with Tifa, of course, and rather than let her go off into a prodding invasion of his and Aerith's sex life again, he decided it was best to speak. He sighed before he did it.

"What are you so happy about, then?"

"What's not to be happy about, huh, there's your question, sunshine!" She was grinning at him again, but there was a shade of something entirely sinister about the grin. It was altogether too knowing – Tifa's expressions could rarely ever claim to be knowing and it was always distinctly wrong when they were, especially when it seemed she was in on some private, cosmic joke that Cloud had been deigned unfit for.

A rare occurrence, but generally to be considered catastrophic.

"It's a beautiful day, I don't have to do any work, we're alive, and Balenciaga are having a sale," she continued, waxing lyrical. She did that often, because life, as far as Tifa was concerned, was just about the greatest thing ever invented. Other people might have agreed, but few were as downright, disgustingly enthusiastic as she was.

"So finish up, throw some clothes on, and let's you and me hit up Sector 6! Mamma needs a new pair of shoes! And a bag to go! Hell, a whole new wardrobe! Come on!"

She rose to her feet and skipped from the room, arms raised in praise for the summer which was just about to arrive.

Cloud didn't trust the look. And he didn't want to get up. That was why the moment she skipped out of the room, he put the (now empty) bowl down and curled back into his bed.

It wouldn't last long, he knew. And he couldn't help the small smirk that pulled at his lips.

"I don't hear dressing"

Despite how pleasantly it was delivered, there was no mistaking the fact that it was an open warning. Tifa could be heard shuffling about in the next room, no doubt poking through his things. She was like a dog – if you didn't want her sniffing through your stuff, marking it as her own, and either making a bed or a toilet out of it, you made sure beforehand that it was out of her way.

Briefly, she considered putting on a LOVELESS DVD or something, because _that _would get him out of bed. Instead, she decided to return to his room, and when she saw the coiled heap on the bed, she propped her hands on her hips, scowled her damnedest, and sniffed loudly.

"Fine then. I guess me, the girls, and my secret will go elsewhere!"

Slowly, unable to get rid of the very small grin on his lips, Cloud sat up. The grin faded to be replaced by his stoic, uncaring face when she mentioned a secret, and he dropped his eyes away from her before rising and stretching.

"Sure. Go on Tif'." He said, scratching his head and meandering over to his closet. A navy roll neck and jeans were extracted, and then he looked at her. She wasn't going to leave, evidently, while he stripped. He shrugged to himself. It wasn't like they hadn't seen each other naked before.

"What's this secret, then?" He asked in a flat voice as he pulled on his clothes. He was waiting for her to pull something out of her ass that would be a terrible, easy to see through lie and tell her so.

Around the walls and on the ceilings, the many pictures of Sephiroth leered at them.

She smiled at him, delighting in this little, preordained victory, and leaned back against a life-sized Sephiroth, who would have banged his head off the ceiling if he was standing on tip-toes. Now content in the knowledge that he'd be pulling no more tricks, she made her way back into the living room, coiled herself on his sofa in front of the tv, and snagged a half-full bag of peanut butter cups from the table as Cloud shifted about his room.

"So, you know that guy, friend of Barret's, Marshall?" She called out to him whilst he dressed, flicking between channels and coming to rest upon some kind of manic cartoon, "I was talking to him yesterday," she heard Cloud leave the bedroom, felt his quizzical gaze boring into the back of her head, and heard him lock the door to the bathroom. In order to accommodate she raised her voice.

"He says he was driving home from the WRO building a few days ago, was driving through that residential bit in Sector 5, y'know where I mean…"

The bathroom door opened again and her voice lowered accordingly. There was something in her voice that was decidedly sly.

"Says he saw something dead weird," she apparently finished, swallowing another peanut butter cup.

"Huh." Came Cloud's expected reply as he sat on the chair next to her, glancing at the screen vaguely. He didn't care much for Tifa's rumours or Marshall, it seemed. But he would learn. Oh foolish Cloud. He would learn indeed.

They sat in quiet for a moment or so, Tifa popping the peanut butter cups like pills and Cloud looking wistfully at the remote secured in her hands. If he had to be up at this hour in the morning, he'd have liked to start it off with the music channels. There was always a good chance that a LOVELESS or a Sephiroth video might come on, and he could always smirk at Barret's. There were also Aerith's videos, and Cloud wouldn't mind seeing her rolling around in her underwear, surrounded by flowers, so early in the morning either.

Would prefer the real thing, but that was life.

"What did he see, then?" he asked, unable to take several more minutes of Spongebob Squarepants. There were only so many times one could handle a starfish, a squid and a sponge in a minute without getting a headache, in his opinion.

"Well," Tifa began, glad he'd taken the bait even if he wasn't exactly happy about it. She turned to face him, legs folded beneath her, and her entire being oozed mysteriousness somehow. It just wasn't right. "He stopped at a red light," she continued, watching Cloud's expression closely, "and he looks at the car next to him, because it's a nice car. Porsche he reckons, veeeery swish. He goes for a look of the guy inside, you know, you like seeing who drives these things, and he sees that they're kinda overdressed for how warm it is. Big black coat, anyway, right?"

His interest was piqued now. She could smell it. It was _delicious._

"But the weirdest thing is, he's got this long hair, and really weird bangs. Through the glass he reckons its pale blond or something, but the light hits it, and he clocks on that it's actually silver! And then this pair of green eyes are smirking at him and the light's changed and the car's around the corner, and off he goes!"

Cloud had gone very still. His face betrayed nothing, except that it had drained of colour. His heart was hammering in his chest. He wished it wouldn't. It always did when he heard such stories, and he always knew that they weren't going to be true. There had been a million and one sightings of Sephiroth since he'd vanished, and the silver-haired music god had not yet returned.

His hands had balled into fists, and he took a breath, raising his head to meet her eyes.

"He thought," he said, slowly, with all the patience of someone wanting to make completely sure that he'd understood, "that he'd seen Sephiroth?" He paused. Marshall wasn't even a fan. Marshall loved Barret's style, and Sephiroth's musical genius was about as far away from Barret's as… well, something blessed from something mundane.

His heart skipped a little faster. If someone who _wasn't_ a rabid fan…

"He says he saw a green eyed, silver haired, black coated guy driving a Porsche in the Sector where the Remnants live, yup!" His reaction made all his bitching worthwhile. Oh, she knew this day would be fantastic. "Says he's sure it must have been Sephiroth, because it definitely wasn't one of his brothers and we all know you can't fake what the General's got going on!"

Tifa hummed delightedly, grinning broadly. But she noted a look in Cloud's eyes, an obsession which was generally dormant but occasionally rose, painfully, and took him over. Her expression softened, and she took hold of his hand.

"Now, Cloud, don't go getting your hopes too high like you usually do, alright?"

Cloud looked at Tifa in surprise, as though he'd forgotten she was there. He had that fevered, introspective look that so many emo – _sorry, post fucking hardcore_ – people longed for that said it was likely.

Then he smiled, briefly, surprisingly, and nodded his head.

"Sure. I don't think he's really back," he lied. Everyone knew how hard it would be to mistake him. Either it was a lie, or it was true. And Marshall, for all he was a general little shit, wasn't likely to lie about Sephiroth. Cloud's heart thudded painfully. He'd worshipped that man. Completely idolized him. He was one of the many who did not think that he was dead.

The idea that his idol was _back_…

He smiled again, another brief flash before it was gone. "So don't worry, Tifa."

Tifa knew that was all fake. But she smiled anyway, and nodded. Part of her felt that, perhaps, telling him hadn't been the wisest idea. Post fucking hardcore as he was, Cloud remained, as far as Tifa was concerned, a delicate little flower.

Aerith appeared on the television screen, advertising her new album. She was dressed in what looked like a nightdress and was walking through a field of bright flowers.

Tifa had always believed that there was something weird about Aerith. She was sure of it, that sometimes the other girl knew things were happening when she couldn't possibly. In the commercial, smiling and happy as she was… Tifa got the distinct impression that she was worried.

* * *

"I just… I just don't understand it," Reeve gave up, staring at the small television screen on his desk. On it played last night's showing of 'Reeve and Cait', in which Reeve and Cait interviewed Barret, Gaia's biggest rap star. The man watched in mute horror as the robot cat stood up and shouted through his megaphone at the televised Reeve, to the laughter and shock of the audience,

"_Well, quite clearly Reeve, there's a bitch, and she's in his way, so he's tellin' her to MOVE, that's what his song means, ya dossbag_!"

He groaned and put his head to the desk, thumping it off of it gently and turning the screen off before Cait could get really raunchy about some of Barret's lyrics. He thought he must have left it on, however, because he heard the swearing continue. He looked to the blank screen for a moment, until he discerned a certain rasp that made him sit up straight and blink.

"Oh GAIA, tell me I'm DIRTY, you nefarious BASTARD!"

"…Vincent?" He called, worrying about the random CAPITALISATION in his friend's voice. He worried a moment or so longer before Vincent pushed the door to his office open, peering around it with his red eyes and another expressionless expression on his face.

"Yes, sir?"

"Was that y –"

His phone rang. Reeve held up his hand to Vincent and picked it up. He winced as Yuffie's happy-go-lucky voice rang out of the receiver at him.

"Mister Reeve sir!" she called, sounding like she was piddling her pants with glee, "The Remnants are here to see you sir! Said you had a slot for them, sir!"

"I did…?" Reeve said, bemused, holding the receiver a few inches from his ear, "Well… I don't seem to have anyone marked down…"

"Mister Reeve sir, I think you might want to see them, sir! And can I get a bigger materia bonus for this, sir?"

"What…?"

"You'll see if you let them in, sir!"

Vincent glowered at the phone. "One word, Reeve," he said, softly, "And I'll blast such insubordination out of her…"

Reeve put a finger to his lips. "Well, Yuffie, I'm not sure…" he thought of those poor boys again, thought of the youngest one with his sweet curly hair and childish face, and his heart melted. Vincent, via those oddly psychic powers, almost retched the chicken burger he'd had for lunch.

"… All right, Yuffie, tell them they can come in."

A moment passed, and then came the sound of approaching footsteps. Purposeful, determined. Big boots, big, expensive boots. They moved in harmony with a delicate, poised thunk. Reeve could hear it. Reeve _knew _shoes. He'd been collecting since he was a kid in Gongaga, saving up his allowance to buy those jelly sandals with the glitter in (not as gay as you think, he _did _get the blue ones after all). And these were not the feet of the Remnants.

Not as he knew them.

When the door opened, the first thing Reeve noticed was that Kadaj's hair was straight. Not just straight, but straight as though straightened with god's own straighteners (and later he'd realize they probably had been).

But then two leather gloved hands landed on his desk, sprawled over a poster of some kind. Reeve couldn't tell. He was looking up at his assailant. He was looking up at Sephiroth.

He smiled pleasantly.

"Reeve," he said, using The Voice, "good to see you."

He was looking up at _Sephiroth._

Reeve blinked, owlishly. It was something those who knew him at all well recognized as an expression of pure, unadulterated shock, a surprise so complete and whole that you really _felt _that the victim would probably never be the same again.

Sephiroth liked having such effects upon people. It was those little looks of utter loss that made life really worth living, that, good quality milk chocolate, and long drives through the countryside.

"Changes have been made to The Remnants, Reeve. That is, they have become Sephiroth and the Remnants."

He smiled, almost amicable, and tilted his head, silken silver hair spilling over his black clad shoulders. His hand moved fractionally to reveal the poster, a veritable confection for the eyes which Kadaj himself had, to his credit, whipped up in some over-priced graphics programme, and depicted the four brothers. Sephiroth, of course, was in the centre of it. Looking godly. And didn't he ruddy always, the prick.

"I do hope that this will not impugn upon the contract, hm?"

There was something to be said for living in a state of almost constant flustered, bumbling altruism: Reeve got over the nasty shocks quicker than most. Indeed, Vincent was still staring at the four silver-haired men, eyes wide and haunted, letting the phone he had been texting into slip from his hand. Reeve, however, was already gathering his wits back together, and he cleared his throat.

"Of course, of course…" he said, quickly, glancing at the stunned Vincent for some kind of moral support. It didn't come. "Bands change… a resign, maybe, I'd need a good listen through to see if you're…" his voice faltered, and he looked, really looked, at the person standing before him before he continued in a voice that knew what it was saying was unnecessary, "… up to WRO quality…"

Of _course_ Sephiroth was up to WRO quality. Even if he had spent the last five years unlearning how to play his bass, his very presence back on the music scene would sell platinum in a second flat. A giddy kind of excitement bubbled up in Reeve – because while it may have _risen _in Vincent, it _bubbled_ in Reeve, and Vincent never got fucking _giddy_ anyway – and made his lips twitch. He was barely restraining a slightly frightened giggle.

Sephiroth did that to a person, after all.

Reeve cleared his throat, looked at the poster once more, thought about the millions of screaming fans who could be crowded around a copy of it, and looked back at Sephiroth. Reeve did not get predatory. Reeve did not leer as, say, Rufus might have. Reeve did not just think of the money. Reeve also thought of the gloriously happy fans. And his gloriously happy employees.

… And possibly the not-so-gloriously happy Aerith, which deflated the giddy bubbles, but only slightly.

He cleared his throat and shook his head again. "Please – please – have a seat – all of you. Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, water – hot chocolate, Kadaj?" he still managed to smile warmly. The teen had very much enjoyed the last mug he'd made for him, after all. The boy's pale brows knit together behind his straight hair, however, and Reeve backtracked, floundering slightly. "Or maybe something to eat. A satsuma? Good for Vitamin C – maybe a pineapple? Cloud Strife swears by pineapple, you know…" Kadaj was slowly going red, and he thought he may have heard one of the brothers snickering, softly. Vincent stirred from his stupor and blinked, in utter disbelief, down at Reeve, but was still rather too stunned to hit him for such stupid gibbering.

"… an orange, maybe?" he finished, deflated, aware he'd probably _not_ made the best impression in front of the Great Sephiroth.

"No," Kadaj almost spat out, adding a hurried "thanks," after Sephiroth shot him – will all the power of an actual bullet, no less - a warning look.

"Take an orange, Kadaj," the eldest brother commanded gently, "You need the vitamin C. It's imperative in the fight against scurvy, after all." For all he hadn't looked at Kadaj whilst he spoke, the younger could hear the wide smirk that he just _knew _would be plastered all over his face, and he bristled with indignation even as he snatched up the proffered orange, peeled it, and started wolfing it down, glaring at Sephiroth all the while. He'd paid attention in Biology lessons. He knew he wanted to avoid that shit.

Sephiroth had taken the seat before Reeve's desk, which he leaned upon like he owned it and, whilst he was at it, the man on the opposite side of it as well. From a chin that rested nonchalantly upon steepled fingers, he regarded Reeve with a cool, discomfort inducing stare. The WRO's president was a man he had met once, perhaps twice, when they were both slaves to the Shin-Ra – not that Sephiroth had really been a slave, there they were crumbling to dust without him – and it seemed like very little had changed. He was decidedly not looking at Vincent, because whenever he did he thought of _things _and he didn't want to think of _things,_ let alone be reminded of how similar their noses were.

"We are planning the release of our new album," he said diplomatically, because it was quite clear to everyone that this was going to be _his _album, _his _comeback, and _his _godliness, "Our desired date is two Fridays from now."

Reeve's bemused smile faltered slightly. Behind him, Vincent had picked up his phone and had resumed texting furiously, his eyes darting from the screen to Reeve to the silver-haired-men and back again. The little clicks of the buttons were the only noises in the silence for a short while – that and Kadaj chewing on the orange.

Reeve then cleared his throat.

"I'm afraid that that might not be possible, with all due respect," he said, delicately, "You see, we have another album due to be released at that time, and besides, unless you're already halfway though the one you plan to release already, then I'm afraid that it will take longer to get it out. Sorry," he added, and he did look it. His mind was clearly racing, though. His eyes flickered back down to the poster, and back up to Sephiroth.

"Considering the popularity of the artist, it may not be a good business move for you," he said, truthfully, but his voice had already begun to trail off as Sephiroth continued to gaze at him. A quick glance around showed Yazoo to be doing the same thing, as was Loz, and even Kadaj was giving him the Look (albeit it was weaker from those three combined than the one from Sephiroth), still chewing his orange. A prickling on the back of his neck let him know that Vincent had joined in as well.

Aerith was his star, his pride and joy, and the biggest selling artist since Sephiroth. The only thing that could top her was… well, Sephiroth.

He spread his hands, "It's not impossible, but I have to say it's very unlikely, and I wouldn't feel fair not letting you know." But even Reeve knew that the comeback of Sephiroth would outshine Aerith's latest and best. It was simply intelligent to give them the date, provided they could make it.

"Aerith Gainsborough's 'World of Azaleas', if memory serves," and of course it did – he'd orchestrated the entire thing, after all. He even allowed himself a smirk. _World of Azaleas._ It sounded like one of those thick, expensive magazines beloved by specialist gardeners. "Yes, Reeve, I have quite taken all of this into consideration." He was not particularly boastful – he did not _have _to be, because all of his excellence was made quite clear – but something on his face quite plainly read: _and I don't give a damn, because I am me and I am godly. Did you forget?_

There was an even subtler kind of threat lurking within the promise in his eyes that he would make it unforgettable.

"I do not see why that would stand in my way," he said gently, and that weird glaze was coming over his face again, that expression that made it evident that he was floating elsewhere. "If anything, is it not the best possible path to follow, for Mother?"

His gaze had went knife sharp again, and every point was directed at Reeve's kindly, bearded face (the beard was a source of quiet awe to Sephiroth, who'd never been able to grow one).

"Would it not, if anything, be the best possible move for the company? Strike with both at once, battle ensues, and you can simply rake in the money?"

"Well…" Reeve looked like someone struggling to remember something. Arguing with Sephiroth did that to you. It wasn't well known: very few people bothered to try. Reeve was putting up a remarkably good fight, "Of course it is. I simply have to allow you to understand that there is a risk of the album being overshadowed." But of course, there was none. The languid smirk that crawled across Yazoo's face said that alone, not to mention the small snort Kadaj gave as he tried to lick the orange juice from his gloved hands.

He didn't let that bother him – truth rather shockingly be told, the only thing that was bothering him in particular was Vincent's steady gaze, and he wasn't sure it was for the same reason – and instead spread his hands, diplomatic. Reeve was incredibly diplomatic. If his middle name hadn't been 'Niccolò', it might have been 'diplomatic'.

"The fact remains that you would need to record everything in a very short space of time, plus refining, sort out all the bits and bobs, and then we'd talk about release," he said, gently. Aerith would be heartbroken when she found out. Reeve didn't want to hurt her, but he did want this album. Business was, after all, business.

Sephiroth's hand slipped into his leather coat. It didn't seem like there was much space for him to do so, let alone take something out of it, but there was what appeared to be a CD in his hand, encased in its little plastic box like some kind of sacred relic. It shone in the light from the window, seemed as bright as the sun itself, and Sephiroth held it out to Reeve like a benevolent god offering him a taste of Paradise eternal, something which he'd give permanently if Reeve would only comply.

And there was no question of that.

"Ready recorded and produced. All we need is to get it published and start publicity. It won't take long. Once word gets out, it will spread like wildfire, and all from Midgar to Wutai will be burnt by it."

His eyes glinted as he spoke. It was entirely unnerving, but didn't allow you to even try evading it.

Reeve didn't, but eventually his eyes travelled to the CD cover in his hands, taking in the front cover. Sephiroth, looking as if he were fading into a background of green and blue, clad in his leathers, eyes closed and a small, knowing smile on his lips. The words "SEPHIROTH and the REMNANTS" emblazoned the top left corner, and scrawled across the bottom…

"Geostigma?" Reeve said aloud, not entirely certain of himself. Truth be told, he was rather stumped. Where and how could they have done this? Of course there had been rumours that Sephiroth was in Midgar, but they had just been that – rumours, nothing more. More fansightings, same as ever. Had the man been here longer than everyone had expected?

He flipped the CD over. Kadaj, Loz and Yazoo were on the back, each wearing their black leather, but also with bandages just visible over parts of their skin, which seemed blackened, as though bruised. They too seemed to be fading into the green and blue background.

His eyes traveled back to the silver haired men, all four of whom were looking at him intently, feral green eyes glittering. Reeve's gaze was, of course, inevitably drawn back to Sephiroth, and he set the CD down on his desk with a small click.

"Perhaps we _can_ talk." He said, already envisioning the release. "Nothing is official yet, of course…"

Sephiroth smiled, a thin lipped, razor sharp kind of smile which never failed to be absolutely, bowel-quakingly, gorgeous. "Listen to it. Call us. Let us know your decision," he said, and he dripped that confidence that practically screamed how unnecessary the call was, a confidence which people should have hated him for were he not so damn justified in it.

He pushed the chair back, rose to his feet, and looked down at Reeve, arms slightly open. "But please, don't keep me waiting, Reeve. It's been a while. I would _hate _to waste time."

With that, Sephiroth and the Remnants made their exit. The dramatic effect of their swishing coats and tapping boots and slight, evil swaggers was somewhat ruined by the audible scream that Yuffie Kisaragi let out just before the door fully closed.

Reeve stared at the closed door for several minutes, before turning the CD over in his hands. They trembled slightly. He remembered the awesome might of Sephiroth when he was in LOVELESS, the only band to have ever best The Jenova Project, and again in his solo career. He had been slightly too old be get in with the hip youngsters who really liked the music, but he had heard it, and he had liked it. Nothing like it had come to the WRO before.

Geostigma. He shivered. Something about it gave him the willies.

That was the sort of thought that would have normally dragged a groan from Vincent. Reeve sat the CD down and turned to look at the musician-turned-body guard. His read eyes – were they a little bloodshot? – were still fixed on the CD in Reeve's hand. He tried to give the older man a small smile.

"Aren't we lucky?"

He was amazed to see a single tear roll down Vincent's cheek.

"My boys…" he rasped, leaving Reeve more than a little stunned.


	3. Sign

**Title**: Sephiroth and the Remnants

**Authors:** shadowededen and mydarkrosaline

**Fandom**: Compilation of FFVII

**Characters**: A Sephiroth who endorses the term 'if you've got it, flaunt it', a put upon Tifa, Barret, and Aerith, a fanboy Cloud, a frightened Tseng, a furious Rufus, a flustered Reeve, and a robot cat that learned too much from Vincent.

**Warning**: Language, innuendo, butchery of characters.

**Word Count**: 8675 overall

**Disclaimer**: See Chapter 01

**Author's Notes**: More faintly humourous AU, slightly more cracky. With a side oder of a phrasebook for Cait Sith. Advent Children thought it could give him a farcical Scottish accent? Oh yeah. We took it to the next level. The accent wasn't enough. We gave him proper _slang._

**CHAPTER 03 - SIGN**

"Dang, I hate the Shin-Ra," Barret said ruefully as he strode down the street. Cloud and Tifa exchanged looks of equal scathing confusion, and then Tifa turned to look at him, hands moving to hips. It was something of a quintessential Tifa pose.

"What?"

"I'm jes' sayin', I hate the Shin-Ra," he repeated, with a casual shrug. Used to it as his companions were, it didn't make it any less weird. Tifa rolled her eyes, looking as close to despair as she probably ever did – very far away from it, at least.

"Barret, we haven't even seen one of their posters. Nobody even _mentioned _them all day." In Midgar, where Shin-Ra ruled from their tower, it was difficult to go a day without seeing their insignia, but so far they _had _miraculously managed to do so. She'd hoped it might keep Barret's mouth shut.

"Yeah, well… Y'know, now we're on the subject, I'm jes' sayin', I hate the Shin-Ra!"

Cloud walked a little ahead of the other two, raising a hand to push the sunglasses further up his nose. He'd heard the bickering before now. It always followed the same pattern. It made the corners of his lips lift slightly every time, though. There was no if, but or maybe about that, and it was annoying.

After their uneventful shopping trip the day Tifa had dropped the rumour, she had declared that she was never going to go shopping alone with Cloud again. She had added that the next time she took Barret with her, Cloud was also going to come along and learn how one was meant to act in such situations. As with most of her threats, Tifa had been as good as her word on this.

Cloud's mind wasn't on that, however, and nor was it on the Shin-Ra and Barret's hatred on them (though Barret's autobiography was). Cloud's mind was taken up with one thing, and one thing only.

The rumours, of course. Who didn't see that one coming?

He'd rooted around for as much as he could. He'd even spoken to Marshall about it, hearing in detail what the skinny, tattooed white rapper had already told to Tifa. Thankfully, he hadn't been hit on as much as Tifa had (that was relative, of course -telling Cloud about Sephiroth could be seen in some strange way as hitting on him). Aside from that tantalizing tale, Cloud had heard very little else.

He was snapped from his thoughts as his glazed eyes eventually transmitted the image of a massive crowd before him to his brain. The people in it were all pushing and shoving, trying to get closer to the wall, where evidently there was something of great interest. He frowned, and glanced over his shoulder and Tifa and Barret, offering them a tiny shrug.

Their gaze followed the same direction as Cloud's, and Tifa returned the little shrug. She did, however, intend on getting to the bottom of this, because Tifa had been obsessed with getting to the bottom of things since she was a kid playing detectives, which had developed in recent years into a less innocent hankering for a man with a fine arse. Fine arses aside, she moved past Cloud and started strutting towards the crowd, Barret in her wake, because if you wanted to get through a crowd you wanted a big black man dressed in mesh with a gun on his arm. Nothing said 'move bitch' quite like it, especially when Barret had did a song on the very subject.

She grabbed Cloud's wrist and yanked him through with them, grateful at least that whatever it was held their attention so closely they hadn't even noticed two hugely popular musicians and one not so popular but still relatively well known emo – sorry, post fucking hardcore person.

When she saw it, she understood why.

The wall space had been devoted to a huge poster, which stretched all the way from one corner of the building to the next. It was a few feet taller than the people standing gazing at it, a wash of pale blues and greens which stood out amidst the grey of Midgar. From the left, a figure seemed to materialise in stages from the opal haze, ghostly and indistinguishable. They spun artfully, their coat swirling about them, and just off centre stood, head tilted to the side but green eyes watching the crowd, resplendent in black leather. At their other side were three figures, alike but entirely different, looking somehow ill and celestial at once. At the other side was the text, the first word meriting the biggest letters.

_**Sephiroth**_

_and the Remnants_

_**Geostigma**_

There was more text underneath it, a date, which seemed too close to be true, an advertisement for an appearance on Reeve and Cait the following evening, but those were the words that really, _truly _mattered.

Barret gave one of those low whistles, staring at it, and Tifa was aware that the world was starting to make noise again.

"It's called _Geostigma_..."

"Sephiroth."

"Do you have it?"

"It's not released!"

"Kadaj looks _so_ good with straight hair..."

"Sephiroth."

"Can we get it anywhere?"

"No!"

"Mommy, who is he?"

"Is he Christ?"

"SEPHIROTH!"

Cloud hadn't been the one to contribute any of this. In truth, he hadn't even heard any of it. He was staring, wide eyed, completely gobsmacked, at the poster before him. His eyes were firmly rooted on Sephiroth's face, and his feet were firmly rooted to the ground. When someone twice his size tried to push him out of the way to get a better look, he simply didn't budge.

After a long while, noise did begin to leak back in, and he was vaguely aware that someone was tugging on his arm. He didn't look down to see who it was. All he looked at was the poster, and his eyes fixed, suddenly, on the release date, and then, a little belatedly at the Reeve and Cait advertisement.

In that one moment, Cloud's date with Aerith tonight was cancelled. Or at least altered.

"What day is it?" He asked, softly, but definitely loudly enough to be heard in the roar of the crowd around him.

"Sunday," Tifa said, quite dazed, but with a better grip on reality than Cloud, at least. Not that such a thing was currently very difficult. She blinked, hazarded a glance at the blond, but found that she couldn't quite bring herself to look away from the wall.

"Dang," Barret verbalized skillfully, because even as the least entranced of the trio he was still pretty damn compelled to lick it. It appeared to have been laminated just in case. Reeve had remarkable foresight. That, and he was just a bit weird about body fluids.

"He really is back," the brunette said numbly, blinking up at the 2D form of Sephiroth, who looked back at them indulgently. "Wow, Cloud. You were right."

"Where the hell's he been?" A voice from somewhere behind them pleaded, and without looking you could just tell they were staring beseechingly at the poster as though it provided every answer.

"We don't know…"

"We don't _care_!"

Barret couldn't help but notice that a margin of about a foot had been left before the poster, as though people were too much in awe to step forward. Even through plastic coated paper, Sephiroth was controlling the people, drawing them close but keeping them at a safe distance (well, Cloud might shatter that safe distance. He looked like he was about to ejaculate all over it. Maybe that was why it was laminated). He offered them all that tiny little half smile, and when you looked at it, it felt like he was doing it all for you, that everything was _all for you._

Defying the stereotype he'd set himself up as, Barret was a man of logic. And logically, he knew that if _he _felt like that, Cloud must be – must be – well, it must be a lot more acute for a guy who'd spent the past half decade swearing the man was still alive and would return to them.

"Hey, Spiky," he said, prodding him on the back, "You a'ight?"

_Sunday,_ thought Cloud, _which means that it'll only be this Friday. Which is only five days. Which is only five days to make sure I can get that CD. Which is only one hundred and twenty hours of meaningless existence…_

He was shaken from his reverie by Barret's prod, and he turned to fix him with a vacant glare. It didn't last long. His gaze was resolutely drawn back to the poster and fixed there. He was vaguely aware that he said "I'm fine," in reply to him, but he was swallowed by his own thoughts again.

_Five more days. That's over on top of five years. I can wait a little longer. I can. I always knew he'd be back. He'd always be back. I knew he would. He wouldn't just leave us. Wouldn't just leave me. I need him. And fucking Aerith is so boring, she never puts out._

He frowned, faintly. _Where did that come from?_

_You. Hi._

… _What?_

_I'm you, Cloud. And she doesn't. Bet Sephiroth would._

"… _WHAT?"_

"Uhh… Spiky…?"

Barret's worried voice made Cloud realise he'd shouted the last part out. His face flushed bright with mortification.

"You sure you a'ight?"

Tifa had turned to look at him as well, Cloud's distress snatching her from her reverie. She eyed him a moment, then looked at Barret significantly. As Cloud's eyes shifted back to gaze at Sephiroth, she took a hold of one of his arms, and Barret grasped the other. He'd barely even noticed, made only a lax attempt to shrug them off before he relented to their grip.

As one, they heaved him off the ground, and marched as best as they could. It felt as though they were lugging his dead weight, as though he'd actually slipped from consciousness. The crowd parted, mostly so they'd get out of the way and let them see again, and they half-carried half-dragged Cloud away from the images, whilst he stared over the heads of the crowd.

"Snap out of it, Cloud," she instructed, deciding that home might be the best idea. She started heading for the closest train station, Barret at her side and Cloud almost slung across their shoulders, "Come on!"

They bundled his almost prone form into the station, almost ignorant of his weight until they felt him give a little tug, as though attempting to escape. Tifa glanced over her shoulder, and realised that another massive poster had been pasted up over the entrance. Sephiroth stood, flanked by his brothers, with his arms just outstretched, palms outwards, as though entreating you to come to him. It was working with Cloud, who was muttering something unintelligible and wriggling fruitlessly.

In unison, Tifa and Barret sighed. It was going to be a _long _ride home.

* * *

"I'll see you later tonight, then?"

Tseng smiled, faintly, at the warmth in the voice at the other end of the line. It was one of the few things that could make him smile so gently. Possibly the only one. He was a hardened man, after all. Killing for and covering up the sexual exploits of Rufus Shinra truly was a soul-destroying job.

"I'd like that." He replied. There was a chuckle from the other end.

"Sure. Love ya, man."

"… I love you too, Reno."

The line went dead. This one didn't have a capital, because Sephiroth had not been on the other end.

Tseng was glad he wasn't. Reno was singularly irritating, brash and loud, but at least he wasn't mysterious and disconcerting. Reno was also under Rufus Shinra's thumb. Sephiroth was decidedly not, and that was almost as annoying as a conscience to Rufus.

Everything, in truth, came back to Sephiroth. Tseng was not looking forward to seeing his boss's reaction today. Nevertheless, he entered his office without so much as a sigh, and gave a respectful bow.

"Sir?"

"Tseng."

Rufus sat at his desk, gazing out of the window. He loved his windows. One of his favourite things was staring out of the window and seeing his city, his world staring back. But right now, he wished he had some kind of curtain for them. Or that they were made of concrete. Or that somebody would blow up the WRO building.

It was nowhere near as tall as the Shin-Ra building, but then, they weren't ruling the world from in there, and that was small consolation. There was, however, something illuminated on one of their walls, the wall that so happened to face the Shin-Ra tower. Rufus had been staring at it in the fading light for almost an hour. As the sun set, the image became clearer, and even before he could tell what it was he was quite sure that he _knew._

"What is it?" He asked, a shade of terseness colouring his cool voice, without turning.

A small part of Tseng wanted to put a hand on Rufus' shoulder and talk expansively that while one couldn't always get what one wanted, it didn't matter, because one was in charge of the biggest co-operation in the world, and just because the music industry side of it was slipping didn't mean the whole thing was tearing down around one. Tseng liked run-on sentences. They, Reno, and coffee breaks made his world.

He knew, of course, that he could do no such thing without incurring Rufus' wrath. He had two options: to say what he had found out and run the risk of Rufus' ire, or to put on a gimp mask and hope Rufus would take the hint.

He opted on the former. The latter terrified him.

"The Great Sephiroth has returned, sir." He said, needlessly, "He has joined with his younger brothers and has taken them to the WRO to be signed. He shows nothing but disdain and malice towards us." He paused, standing ramrod straight. One wouldn't know he felt like leaking out of every orifice in fear. "Reeve seems to be giving them practically everything they want, and has even assigned Valentine to protect them."

Valentine might be swayed. It was unlikely, because he seemed to stick to Reeve like a very obvious, very drugged shadow, but it was possible. He had, after all, been a part of The Jenova Project, and the only other surviving member remained with Shin-Ra.

"Already they are overshadowing Aerith's newest release, sir. The streets and the shops are lined with fans yet, and many have had to cancel pre-ordering."

He lapsed into silence. A dreaded silence. But Tseng was too tough a cookie to crack and show it, dammit.

The response was far from pleasant. Rufus sat, in such silence that Tseng wasn't even convinced that he was still breathing. Ignoring the brief moral debate over whether he should feel good about such a prospect or not, he remained still, and waited.

Eventually, Rufus exhaled. It was a long breath, released through clenched teeth.

Rufus whirled to sit at his desk again, expression grave. He eyed Tseng for a long moment, as though expecting him to do jazz hands and proclaim that he was only kidding. That would be easily dealt with. Tseng would be punished for his insubordination, life would go on as usual.

But Rufus knew better than that. Insubordination would never be something Tseng was guilty of, never.

He had to accept that this was the cold, unpleasant truth, and that there was no avoiding it.

Cynical as he was, Rufus believed that one should always hold onto some form of educated hope. Because there was always a chance that you'd find a way to twist things to your liking.

"I see," he said, and his voice was thin ice, brittle but no less cold. "Thank you for reporting this to me, Tseng."

He turned to the window once more, and Tseng was allowed to breathe.

* * *

Barret had once asked Cloud why he continued to live in his shitty little apartment when he had enough money to buy himself a decent enough place. The answer to this rather valid question came in two parts: on one hand, the shitty apartment had a fairly quiet route to the WRO, so Cloud could bike up there without getting caught in traffic (waking up many innocent, quiet residents, but did they understand the anguish in the soul of one who needed to record a moderately popular song? No. No they fucking _didn't_.) The second answer to the question was that Cloud had massive trouble letting things go.

That was why Cloud's place was relatively small and cramped in comparison to say, one of Barret's closets. It didn't matter, of course, because right now the tiny living room contained three people, all of them staring at the TV in anticipation.

Cloud was of course one of them. Tifa was another. The third was not Barret; the man had left for home after depositing the gibbering Cloud in bed and entrusting him to Tifa. No, the third person was the lovely looking woman who could only be Cloud's girlfriend, the multi-million selling Aerith Gainsborough. She looked, understandably, rather put-out by this turn of events. She had wanted Cloud to bring her flowers and take her out for a nice meal, maybe a movie, maybe buy her expensive presents, and instead she had been taken back to Cloud's apartment to eat pizzas with him and Tifa and watch Reeve and Cait.

No flowers, no presents, a bedroom full of posters of the one man who could ruin her, and a gibbering explanation that he was back and Cloud was so happy. It was no real wonder why she was shuffling her dyke-ish boots against the carpet.

The Reeve and Cait show was due to start in ten minute's time. Cloud kept glancing at the clock every half minute, willing it to move faster, willing the poor, innocent programme on before it to end. He was getting nowhere fast, obviously.

The accompanying females were watching him out of the corners of their eyes, Tifa worried that he may, at any given moment, burst into really hardcore little bits, Aerith worried that he might catch on to the fact that she'd cancelled the recording he'd set up so that he wouldn't spend all of the following week watching it on repeat. They looked equally dubious, and eventually met each other's gaze and shook their heads for what they presumed to be the same reason. Tifa had decided Cloud wasn't that much in danger of exploding currently, and Aerith was avoiding any blame that might get thrown her way.

Aerith hooked her arm through Cloud's and tugged herself a little closer to him. He wasn't paying attention. Cloud, sat between two of Gaia's most beautiful women, was looking between the TV screen and the clock feverishly.

Thankfully, Aerith hadn't been expecting him to, and the disappointment was subsequently not as acute as it could have been.

"Hey, Cloud," she ventured, after a pause, "I brought you a bag of candied pineapple." Because even if he was being selfish, she had no intention of being the same. It might make him pay more attention to her rather than the television.

That did get his attention, and Cloud turned his face to her, smiling softly. For Aerith, his smiles did tend to last for more than a half-second, which was a testament to how much he actually did love her. It wasn't hardcore to smile often, and even less so to smile for long. He leaned over and kissed her cheek, pulling his arm out of her grip and settling it around her waist.

"Thanks," he said, softly, while Tifa raised her eyebrows behind him in a way that quite plainly said she was impressed and slightly shocked. Aerith smiled, that little bit happier, and settled against him.

The programme ended, finally, and rather than cutting straight to commercials, Reeve and the infamous robot cat, Cait Sith, appeared on screen. Cloud sat up straight, but there was no hint of silver hair or black leather on the screen. Reeve was dressed in traditional peacock blue, black and white, and Cait wore nothing but his crown, cape and boots. He was, however, hitching a ride on Reeve's shoulder, and was quite plainly loving it.

"Don't forget to tune in after this break, folks!" Reeve said, and the assembled three could _hear_ Vincent smacking his face with his claw, then quite possibly throwing down another vodka with Cid, "We've got a special appearance tonight – first time ever, Sephiroth and the Remnants!"

"Aye, aye, tell 'em like they don't already know, ya twatwaffle," the robotic cat said from his shoulder, "Tune in, folks! Naeb'dy's gonna miss the Return o' the General! If ya do, ya might want to just grab a gun and set yersel's free right noo – Reeve whit are ya –"

Reeve has clamped a hand over Cait's mouth, and was still beaming happily at the camera. "Don't turn off your sets!" he said, and then the TV really did cut to commercials.

Oh, there was no risk of sets being turned off in this apartment. Not until the show's intro came on, at which point Tifa went to switch it off – it was common knowledge that Reeve and Cait had one of the most infuriating start on television.

But Cloud stopped her. He reached out, gripped her shoulder, and pulled her back. He wasn't risking missing even a nano-second of this, even if it meant enduring eighty seconds of Reeve searching Midgar for Cait, to the all too catchy jingle of 'Reeve and Cait! Reeve and Cait!' sung over and over again.

His grip on Aerith's waist tightened at the torture. But it would be worth it. Even Aerith knew it would be worth it.

"Good evening everybody and welcome to a very special edition of Reeve and Cait! As you all probably know, we have a _very _special guest on our show tonight, as we bring to you a world exclusive, that's right folks!"

"-kin' yaldy frae maldy!" Pitched in Cait, jerking his arms and thrusting his hips out in a way which was entirely improper and evidently some display of victory. Reeve pushed him to sit down again, still smiling.

"Now, you may recognise our guests tonight as the popular rock band, The Remnants! But on this very special night it just so happens they have more to show off than a new album release!"

"Get on with it!" Screamed Tifa, essentially voicing Cloud's subconscious, conscious, and very soul.

"So let's waste no more time: here they are for you after five years of waiting, allow me to introduce to you, Sephiroth and the Remnants!"

The crowd went wild before they'd even come on stage. Tifa, from the sofa, was applauding. If anything, the chaos only intensified when they entered, the Remnants first, Kadaj prickled and trying to cover it up, Loz waving to everyone, Yazoo with one of those cool smiles. And then, in their wake, walked 6' 1 of pure musical _god._

The tumult silenced itself when he looked at them. There could be no breeze in the studio, but his hair seemed to waft just so. For a moment, as he looked straight into the audience, straight into the camera, the world held its breath.

Then he smiled, a bare curving of his lips.

And, like somebody had just took the television off mute, the screaming started again.

Cloud let out a breath that he was well aware he had been holding. For a second he worried that the image of Sephiroth on screen may have been a result of Space Monkey, but even as he sucked more and more oxygen into his lungs, it simply remained there, glorious as ever, godly as always, and still smiling the small, half smile that was ever so famous.

Sephiroth had turned away and taken a seat between Kadaj and Loz. He lounged on it like some kind of indulgent god, regarding Reeve steadily. Reeve seemed very well aware that he was the voice of the people, the one who this god would speak to. He carried it remarkably well.

The audience was still screaming. It seemed to last a very long time. Cloud had the distinct impression that some of them were attempting to break onto the set and throw themselves down before Sephiroth. Tifa and Aerith had the distinct impression that Cloud wanted to do that anyway. Aerith curled an arm around his neck just in case. It went completely unnoticed.

Eventually, Cait stood up, grabbing his megaphone, and yelled "SHUT YER FACE!" at the crowd, who paid no heed the first time, and again the second. It was only when the cat added "HAUD YER WHEEST YA DOBBERS!" that everyone seemed to quite down, partially because none of them were entirely sure what 'haud yer wheest' actually meant, but mostly because even the rabid fans realised that no interviewing could be done whilst they were screaming fit to burst.

Cloud had realised it long before any of them, but he couldn't help one of the small, distressed sounds that escaped his lips. It was taking too long.

Reeve looked a little thrown for a moment, but he recovered remarkably. "Sephiroth – and you, Kadaj, Loz, Yazoo – you can't believe how lucky we feel to have you on the show here tonight!" he began, getting the niceties, "You've done so much in such a short period of time – and your fans are excited too, as I'm sure you've noticed!" He broke of with a friendly laugh there. Cait looked at him.

"Naw Reeve. Jist Naw."

"I want to know how they got the audience for this, I mean, they plan these things months in advance, right? So what was scheduled for tonight? Was this a last minute thing? How come Reeve didn't offer us tickets?"

Cloud gave her a look that said the only reason he wasn't strangling her was because she had a good point, and that if she didn't shut up so Sephiroth could talk he'd skin her too.

The crowd now placated, Reeve smiled at his guests, shuffling his little set of cards. It all happened perfectly normally, but it felt to the onlookers as though it was spanning an age.

"So, Sephiroth, it's definitely been a while, hasn't it? I think you gave everyone quite a scare with that disappearance, but I'm sure I speak for us all when I say it's good to have you back!"

The crowd watched Sephiroth intently. They watched as his tongue darted over his lips before he spoke, at the way his smile curved to accommodate each word that rolled from it, "It's good to be back, Reeve," he answered in kind, the first words the public had heard from him since his last interview, over five years ago, when he was in the peak of his solo career.

It seemed that there was a unanimous decision made about Sephiroth's voice: it had gotten even better. For a space of about ten seconds, the crowd was wild again. Sephiroth silenced them with a look and one of those smiles; he might as well have said _yes, I am just __**that **__good._

"Now, of course it's already known that you're releasing a new album this we –"

"Haw."

Reeve paused mid sentence, and looked at Cait.

"What?"

The robot cat stared back at him with its beady glass eyes.

"Yer goin' a wee bit fast, are ya no?" The machine asked pointedly, "Skippin', mebbe, ah don' know, aboot five years mebbe?"

"Cait –"

"Naw, Reeve, naw. Shut it." The cat turned to Sephiroth, who was looking at it with something like a smirk on his lips. "Ah'll ask the questions whit folk are wantin' tae hear. Like this wan." Sephiroth sat up slightly, raising an eyebrow. The cat was undeterred, of course. "Where the fuck huv ya been, Sephiroth?"

Applause and laughter rippled through the crowd. Reeve looked about fit to hit his head off the desk. But Sephiroth merely smiled one of those gentle, calm smiles he was so good at and paused a moment before answering.

"I needed a break from it all," he admitted, "It had been a difficult time, and I… Needed to get out of it. I travelled, but I ended up on the Northern Continent, in a shack on the side of a mountain. It was good for me, I think. I like to hope that my work now will be even better for it."

"Aye?" Said Cait, sounding genuinely interested, "so whit brings ya back noo, eh?"

"I felt I'd stayed away long enough," the General answered, looking at his brothers, "I'd missed my family, and I wanted to start creating things for people again."

Reeve decided to seize back control over the interview (well, over Cait at least) and cleared his throat, shuffling the prompt cards. They were very sparse, because it wasn't like the researchers could supply him with 'so, I hear you've been doing such and such recently'. "How is it being back in Midgar?"

Sephiroth's smile thinned and widened as though in private amusement. "Interesting, at least. It's good to have returned to my family, at least."

"You wouldn't _think_ he's a family man, would you?" said Aerith, earning her a _glare_ from her most loving boyfriend before he fixed his attention back to the TV again. She blinked in surprise, and looked over in the hopes of catching Tifa's eye and sharing a knowing look about men. It didn't happen, of course, because Tifa was looking at the screen where three sexy guys in leather were sitting, and had a knowing glint in her eye about men.

Reeve allowed the audience to give an 'aww', and even let Cait make horrible retching noises before ploughing on. "And what's it like, Kadaj, Loz, Yazoo, to have your brother back?"

"Who cares about them?" Cloud said, rather unfairly. Cait seemed to agree with them, because Cloud's quiet huffing was drowned out by a "WHIT?" from the cat. It stomped over to Reeve and hit his arm.

"Naeb'dy cares aboot the Remnants, ya dossbag!" he said, wagging his finger under Reeve's nose, "So gonnae gi'e it a rest that you do in aw?"

"_Sephiroth does_," Reeve said, and suddenly the audience who had been nodding in agreement to Cait were muttering about how unfair Cait was being. It wasn't the first time that Reeve had ever shown a slightly manipulative side, either. It didn't stay for very long though, and he was all smiles.

"So!" he beamed, brightly, "Kadaj? Loz? Yazoo?"

Kadaj was busy picking at the couch, clearly not really wanting to answer this one. Or perhaps he was a little camera shy. Loz, however, nodded his head. "It's great!" he said, beaming from ear to ear, looking, just for a moment, like a childish Sephiroth. "We all missed him, after all." He added, just before Yazoo's head lolled and he opened his heavy-lidded eyes.

"It's so… _good _to have the family back together," he said, slowly, "And it has done _wonders_ for our music."

"Is it just me," interjected Aerith, "Or does Yazoo look and sound like he's on heavy drugs?"

"He was born addicted to Mako, and his father kept giving him shots when he was younger," said Cloud, eyes still fixed on the screen, "Chapter two, page forty seven of Sephiroth's biography. Now shh."

"That nefarious bastard!" Tifa said, scowling righteously, "I'm amazed no one ever got rid of Hojo before –"

"I said 'shh'." Said Cloud, and there was authority in his tone.

Back on the screen, Reeve was flipping his prompt cards again, smiling, "So, I've heard you plan on giving us a little taster from Geo –"

"Oh aye, that reminds me," said Cait, piping up, "Sephiroth, this has been botherin' me for fuckin' _years_, so I'm gonna say it noo. Right. Here goes." The cat took a breath. "Carpet same as the drapes?"

Tifa spit her drink over herself as she giggled. It was a pathetically small reaction in comparison to the crowd, who, once again, started caterwauling. Even the men caterwauled. In fact, the men were doing the worst of the caterwauling, because most of them had girlfriends who, at some point, had wanted them to find a way to dye their hair silver.

Reeve was less enthused. He looked rather flustered at such a question, and rounded on the cat with a cry of "Cait!" The robot hopped from his reach, folded its arms over its chest, and with a cry of "Whit? You were thinkin' it! Ev'dy was thinkin' it!" tottered over the table to peer closer at Sephiroth, who was taking this in remarkably good humour and had even graced his audience with a low chuckle.

"I assure you, they do indeed."

Cait Sith took a long, dubious look at him, then turned to the audience. "Ah don't believe him. S'no good enough, is it folks?"

The crowd caught on quick enough, and he was met with a resounding chorus of 'no'. Sephiroth laughed again, straightening where he sat, and tilted his head. "What could I do to prove it?" He asked, and it sounded like the hint of suggestion in his voice had caused at least three people in the crowd to faint. Thankfully, Cloud was not one of them.

The cat looked at him with its blank little eyes, and then grinned. "How 'boot ya gi'ez a swatch?"

"Cait! I'm sorry about this Sephiroth, please, ignore him –"

But Reeve was the one being ignored. Sephiroth had risen to his feet, hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his low-riding leather trousers, and tugged them down just enough to show the beginnings of silvery white hair at the base of his abdomen.

For a moment, the crowd was too stunned to scream. And then, as though they'd collectively remembered how, they started again. Sephiroth stood there for a moment, his pose impeccable, before he did something which was probably as close as he'd ever done to a grin and sat down with his brothers again. Kadaj looked fit to vomit. Loz was laughing. Yazoo still had that calm little smile.

Reeve looked like he was about to burst into flames.

Cait Sith gave a wolf whistle, and turned to the camera.

"Ya heard it here first, ladies and gentlemen, don't say we're no good tae yez."

Cloud's grip on Aerith's waist had become painful. He was staring at the screen with a stunned expression, eyes wide and round. He couldn't believe what he'd just seen. Aerith looked at him, and her face fell. A faint blush had crept over Cloud's face. He could never hide it: his skin was just too pale. She didn't like what that entailed.

"Show off," she muttered, aware she was blushing a little herself. Sephiroth may have been evil in her world, but he was still incredibly good-looking, and he had millions of fans who would just eat up that bit of fanservice. Fans who were also hers, but were now likely paying her no mind at all.

"Nh." Cloud said in response, which was all the admonishment he could give at this present time. Had he been more coherent, Aerith knew that there would have been hell to pay. She was actually quite lucky that she'd sabotaged the recording.

Reeve seemed to be pulling himself back together, but he still looked as if he were in danger of combusting. He shuffled his cards and gave a weak grin, shaking his head. "Well, that's one way to know that this episode will have the highest ratings on the Planet!" he joked, and people clamoured to agree.

"Aye, it'll awready be oan that youtube shite!"

Kadaj was staring at his brother with an odd mixture of amusement, disgust, shock and jealousy on his young face, but that was all right, because no one was looking at him anyway.

"I was going to ask you something," Reeve continued, "But in light of this… particular turn of events, I'll ask a question than I'm pretty sure the entire female population of Gaia wants to know,"

Everyone seemed to be sitting with baited breath.

"So, Sephiroth," came the question, "Are you seeing anyone?"

It was quite possible that this was the quietest that the audience had been all evening. In fact, it was probably the quietest they'd been in their entire lives, because _nobody _wanted to miss the answer. A pin dropping would have been like thunder, a _feather _dropping would have been bad enough.

Slowly, Sephiroth's lips curved and slid into another smile. He knew he had every degree of attention focused on him, and he was exploiting it. He leaned back, let his eyes flick to the floor and then back up in a move that would have been coy if anybody else had done. It worked regardless.

"Not currently," he answered, as Kadaj's eyes rolled so far back it looked like he was about to lose them in the recesses of his head.

Tifa gave a raucous whoop, and jabbed her elbow into Cloud's side. "You hear that, people? Mm-mm, I'd get me some of that!"

Aerith blinked at her, but had to admit that she was glad it was Tifa saying it and not Cloud.

"Well, ladies, I trust you heard that! Sephiroth, I do apologise if you get even more inundated with offers than usual!"

The silver General merely laughed again, silken smooth.

It sent shivers through the audience. It sent shivers through Aerith, who hoped that she was just shivering very hard indeed and that the extra shaking wasn't Cloud at all. Tifa was just leering. It took a lot to fluster her, after all.

Cloud smiled for a brief flash and nodded vaguely to Tifa's comment, fixing his eyes back on the screen again. Any minute where he wasn't looking at Sephiroth was a wasted minute indeed.

"Anyway!" said Reeve, smiling so brightly the sun could have taken a holiday.

"Aye, noo that we've bothered Sephiroth about his pubes and his sex life," Cait said, rolling his eyes, as if it were all Reeve's fault. That was quite a feat, considering that Cait only had little button eyes and couldn't really roll them. Reeve gave him a half hearted glare before he returned his eyes to Sephiroth.

"Anyway, as I was saying, You're going to be giving us a little taster from your new album?"

"Mm," Sephiroth said, nodding with a mere inclination of his head, "For the Reunion, our first single."

Reeve nodded as if this was new information. It wasn't, of course. He'd helped compile the special features and watched the video shoot himself, and was comfortable in the knowledge that he'd never have to worry about finances ever again, even if he ended up immortal.

"Something to look forward to for after the break, ladies and gentlemen, we'll be back shortly!"

It cut to commercials, and Tifa gave another whoop of delight. "That was amazing! So worth the wait!"

Cloud agreed, though noiselessly. He was still looking at the screen, though now it was showing a recruitment advert ('Want excitement, adventure, and a chance to see the world? Join SOLDIER today!") and no silver-haired God was there. Aerith looked at him for a while, and then waved a hand in front of his face. Cloud blinked.

"Enjoyed that, did you?" She asked, a small, almost sad smile on her face. Cloud looked a little lost for a moment, and then blinked, smiling his lingering smile for her, giving a little noise of affirmation.

Aerith kissed him on the cheek. He smiled again, pulling his arm from around her and shaking it a little. He was getting pins and needles. When the discomfort was gone he took her hand and sat with it on his lap.

"…He knows how to work a crowd, doesn't he?" Aerith ventured after a short while. Cloud nodded at that.

"Sephiroth always had a presence." It was said in a voice tinged with worship and reverence. Aerith looked across at Tifa, sharing a worried look. Cloud really did have trouble letting go of things, and now that he had this particular one back… possibly within his grasp…

"Cloud," Aerith said, gently, "Be careful all right?"

"…Careful?" he asked, typical Cloud style. She sighed.

"Just don't… get too attached. Too addicted. It won't be healthy."

"Oh, that," Cloud brushed it off easily and reached over to take his bag of candied pineapple. Now that the adverts were on, he could risk taking his eyes off the screen without the world ending. "Don't worry, Aerith. I'm fine."

He didn't hear her sigh as he ripped open the bag and chewed happily on the sweetened fruit.

Tifa had never been keen on Aerith as it was – she seemed a bit smarmy, let alone the fact that she was always pushing for more, and that was before she discovered that Aerith did not put out for Cloud – but she entirely understood her fears. Cloud could easily lose himself to obsession – it had happened when he was younger, after all. Zack had died only a few months after Sephiroth's disappearance, and she'd never been _convinced _of what troubled him more.

Conversely, if this was something attainable, it might make him less fervent in his obsessions. They were signed on the same label, she'd noticed, they'd meet at some point. Then again, Cloud might find Sephiroth to be nothing like how he'd hoped, and his illusion would be shattered, and for someone like Cloud that could be all the more damaging…

She grinned at him, and punched him on the arm, "This is great, huh? I guess you were right, Cloud! How does it feel?"

It might, at least, prompt him to actually speak a bit.

He gave a grunt of pain and put his hand over his arm. Tifa was a skilled martial artist as well as a massive artist, and it _hurt_ when she punched him. He glowered at her, and said, "It feels _sore_, Tif'. That's how it feels. So stop doing it." It was his way of winding her up. Aerith hung back a little, not sure if she should get involved.

He smiled and straightened, though, and ate some more candied pineapple while the TV prattled on ("Flying with comfort? Flying cheaply? Tea on flight? Fly with Highwind Airways!"). "It's… pretty good." He said, the understatement of the century. Pretty good. Pretty good had been the Remnants. Sephiroth was closer to being pretty _godly_.

"I'm glad he's back." He said, faintly, "I always knew he would be. He gave so much to the music scene. He just had to come back. He rules it. No one could ever reach his level."

It was actually a pretty insensitive thing to say with Aerith sitting right beside him, but he hadn't seemed to notice. Cloud. So fucking unreliable as always. But Aerith overlooked it, or at least didn't heard it.

"And this song…" he just trailed off. "It'll just wipe the charts."

Tifa decided to let his bickering slide, as she generally did. Aerith was making an effort to pay rapt attention to the latest advert. It was quite clear that Cloud was still dazed. He was probably still picturing those leather trousers sliding down those hips. It was a worrying prospect, not because Tifa was scared he might end up leaving her for a fantasy but because she was worried about it on behalf of Aerith. That was what girls did. They worried on behalf of each other for things like it could do something.

She diverted Cloud's attention by stealing some of his pineapple, and leaning to hook her arm around both him and his girlfriend.

"Reckon it'll be better than his old stuff?" She pressed on, her smile sly and horrifically wily, "Or will the years have made him crap?"

At least, with his hands full of pineapple, his second favourite thing after Sephiroth, he might not punch her.

Nevertheless, he still managed to glare at her. "Sephiroth could _never_ be crap," he hissed, and was probably about to go on some tirade about it until the Reeve and Cait music came back on, at which point his head whipped back around to the TV screen so fast that the two women were worried that his neck might have snapped.

Reeve was grinning at them all, Cait was making rude gestures to the camera. Kadaj was sitting with his head propped up on one arm, looking bored. Loz looked a bit big and clumsy, but also like he was enjoying himself. Yazoo's eyes were slits, and he was smiling like a cat with cream (or frozen soya shit). Sephiroth was simply _being_. It was all he had to do.

"Welcome back to Reeve and Cait! For those of you just tuning in –"

"Take a screwdriver tae yer eyes!"

"Cait!"

"Whit? Ya wid tae if you'd missed the first half!"

"… If you're just tuning in –"

"Don't fuckin' ignore me, Reeve."

"The we're sitting here with Sephiroth and the Remnants, on their first ever interview!"

"I'm gonnae rip yer baws, Reeve."

"We've already had some excitement –"

"Aye, an' pump yer maw tae."

Reeve closed his eyes, and for a moment, it looked almost like he was going to hit Cait Sith. The moment passed and he was smiling again, however, but one hand was on the back of the robot's neck, and seemed to be squeezing lightly.

"Now! The band have a surprise in store for us – a sneak peak at one of their singles from the anticipated 'Geostigma'! Sephiroth, what's this one about?"

The camera zoomed in on Sephiroth. It had been pointed at him all along anyway.

Sephiroth had this way of taking everything in at once. It seemed like he was devoting his attention to you at any given time, but he was still glancing at Reeve. A useful skill for a celebrity, certainly, and one he made full use of.

"I like to think of this album as the result of a journey taken, not just for myself but for all of us. I want the people to listen to it to have a place for it in their hearts and minds, to let themselves connect with it on some level. For the Reunion is just an extension, a facet of that – hopefully something to draw you in and represent that connection that we all share."

Ah, the pretentious _artiste _spiel. It was one everybody made at some point in their lives, one which Sephiroth made more than most but always pulled off impeccably. There was no arguing with him. It didn't matter how ridiculous it sounded, you _knew _you were fated to feel that fabled _connection_, and not in the same way you might with a song by Aerith or Tifa, where you'd wander about the house in naught but your socks, singing at the top of your voice.

"I see," Reeve said, nodding as though this all made perfect sense, which it did, because this was Sephiroth, and if he told you that the sky was orange it would make perfect sense, "your album art features yourself and your brothers, suffering from varying degrees of this disease, what is presumably this _Geostigma…_ What's the meaning behind that? What message are you conveying through it?"

Sephiroth seemed pensive for a moment, as though he hadn't got the answer down the moment Reeve had asked. He even went so far as to run his fingers along his chin in thought. "During these journeys, following these paths, being a part of these connections… We become afflicted, inevitably, by what goes on around us – in intrusion upon our lives reflects upon ourselves. This Geostigma is something akin to a sickness, but it binds us all together, makes us all complete…"

He was smiling that weird, almost _too _mysterious smile. You couldn't help but adore it.

Cloud did adore it. He loved it utterly. How could he not? It was Sephiroth. Everything Sephiroth did was something he adored. He was nodding, engrossed in his words, letting them wash around them even if they didn't make complete sense at the moment.

Aerith, meanwhile, was frowning. When Sephiroth finished, she shook her head. "He's absolutely off his head," she said, softly, "Life isn't like that at all. It's in -"

"Yes Aerith, the opening of a flower bud to the light, we've all heard your song," snapped Cloud, rather, truth be told, unnecessarily cruelly. Aerith stared at him. There was something more than slightly fevered in her boyfriend's eyes. The glow, which came from a bad experience with mako in his youth, seemed almost green for a moment. It was gone in a flash.

She looked at Tifa, who hadn't seemed to notice anything.

"Words for your fans to live by," Reeve said, softly. The crowd had gone quiet, "Is there anything else we should know before we hear the masterpiece?"

His brothers rose to their feet and crossed to where their instruments sat, waiting to be played. Sephiroth stayed by the table a moment longer, to smile indulgently, "It's been five years in the making," he said, almost rueful, "I hope it's worth it."

The camera reluctantly swung to Reeve – at which point Cloud damned the audience, because they would obviously watch Sephiroth as he moved to take up his bass and here he was stuck staring at Reeve. He didn't even hear him introduce the song, just let his attention fade for a moment until the camera panned out to massive applause, zooming in upon the four shadowed figures again.

A few piercing guitar notes sounded; a slow, almost plaintive selection of individual sounds threaded together repetitively. As Kadaj's fingers moved faster, the sound became less mournful, it drew you in, pulled you along with it in a way that a simple sound should not have been able to.

A flourish of drums, soft synth, and then a gentle bass line that you didn't really _hear _so much as it _seeped _into your head started up all at once, accompanied by an illuminating flare of opalescent light, a light which shone off silver hair and reflected in jade eyes.

And then Sephiroth started to sing.

The sounds pulsed alongside Cloud, who shivered. It was the shiver of a man who had found something beautiful, different from what he was used to, but hauntingly reminiscent of it. It thrummed through him, taking him over completely, just as Sephiroth's music had always done. He had always been a follower of the great General. Wordlessly he had done all he had told him. He had needed him, and everything he produced.

He _needed_ this.

It was a breath of life, a rush of adrenaline. It made Cloud feel alive, alive and so energetic, where he had only felt wasted and useless before. He understood it. He wanted to be a part of it. Sephiroth's words rang through him, within him, a part of him.

Anything he asked for. Anything at all.

Aerith put her hand on his shoulder and spoke, trying to ruin it all. He drew in a sharp breath, feeling, perhaps for the first time, a taint of poison along with the lyrics. His glowing eyes smouldered, and anyone who looked may well have asked him if he were getting his drugs from the same place as Yazoo.

"It's very good," Aerith said, softly, "Yes, I can see why he'd draw some in."

"Some…" Cloud repeated, not really hearing her. He had an urge to get up and follow. He heard Sephiroth's words. He wished to do nothing but obey Sephiroth's words.

"_Those chosen by the planet… come."_

* * *

**CAIT SITH SCOTTICISMS - ENGLISH PHRASEBOOK**

Please, do alert us if we missed anything which needs translated, ya couple o' fannies.

- "Aye, aye, tell 'em like they don't already know, ya twatwaffle,"

_Yes, yes, tell them like they don't already know, you buffoon._

- "Tune in, folks! Naeb'dy's gonna miss the Return o' the General! If ya do, ya might want to just grab a gun and set yersel's free right noo – Reeve whit are ya –"

_Tune in, folks! Nobody's going to miss the Return of the General! If you do, you might desire to simply grab a gun and set yourselves free right now – Reeve what are you-_

- "-kin' yaldy frae maldy!"

_Expression of delight, triumph. That first word is 'fucking' and is deemed necessary. It doesn't make sense without it. You are asked to ignore the fact that it doesn't make sense anyway. That would be racism against Scots._

- "SHUT YER FACE!"

_Shut your mouth._

- "HAUD YER WHEEST YA DOBBERS!"

_Hold your tongue, you fools._

- "Naw Reeve. Jist Naw."

_No, Reeve. Just no._

- "Haw."

_Hey._

- "Yer goin' a wee bit fast, are ya no?"

_Your going a little fast, aren't you?_

- "Skippin', mebbe, ah don' know, aboot five years mebbe?"

_Skipping, maybe, I don't know, about five years maybe?_

- "Naw, Reeve, naw. Shut it."

_No, Reeve, no. Be quiet._

- "Ah'll ask the questions whit folk are wantin' tae hear. Like this wan."

_I'll ask the questions that people want to hear. Like this one._

- "Where the fuck huv ya been, Sephiroth?"

_Where ever have you been, Sephiroth?_

- "Aye?"

_Yes?_

- "so whit brings ya back noo, eh?"

_So what prompts your return now, hm?_

- "WHIT?"

_What?_

- "Naeb'dy cares aboot the Remnants, ya dossbag"

_Nobody cares about the Remnants, you fool._

- "So gonnae gi'e it a rest that you do in aw?"

_So will you stop pretending that you do too?_

- "Sephiroth, this has been botherin' me for fuckin' _years_, so I'm gonna say it noo. Right. Here goes."

_Sephiroth, this has been vexing me for a long time, so I'm going to say it now._

- "Whit? You were thinkin' it! Ev'dy was thinkin' it!"

_What? You were thinking it! Everybody was thinking it!_

- "How 'boot ya gi'ez a swatch?"

_How about you let us take a look?_

- "Aye, it'll awready be oan that youtube shite!"

_Yes, it will already be on that youtube website!_

- "Take a screwdriver tae yer eyes!"

_Take a screwdriver to your eyes!_

- "Whit? Ya wid tae if you'd missed the first half!"

_What? You would too if you'd missed the first half!_

- "Don't fuckin' ignore me, Reeve."

_Please have a care to pay attention to me, Reeve._

- "I'm gonnae rip yer baws, Reeve."

_I'm going to maim your testicles, Reeve._

- "Aye, an' pump yer maw tae."

_Yes, and I intend to copulate with your mother whilst I'm at it._


	4. Listen to the cries of the Planet

There he was: the silver-haired god; the Great Sephiroth himself; the General of the Music Industry, a bass in one hand and a

**Title:** Sephiroth and the Remnants

**Authors:** shadowededen and mydarkrosaline

**Fandom**: Compilation of FFVII

**Characters:** Two rap fans with hot little hands, a perturbed security guard, an altogether invasive video director, a spasming little Cloudy wolf, a Tifa out on the hunt, a surprisingly spritely Barret, an Aerith with all the sorrow of the world in her eyes, an ever over-shadowed Kadaj, a largely ignored Yazoo, a scoring Loz, a damn godly Sephiroth, a put upon Reeve, a disgustingly sexual Vincent, and somebody who really needs a freaking wash.

**Warning:**Language, innuendo, butchery of characters.

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 01

**Author's Notes:** Meant to be crack, more along the lines of a faintly humourous AU. We apologize for not meeting out weekly updates – this chapter gave us some bother. Thanks a huge amount to our reviewers, again. Sorry if there's anything wrong with tagging and the likes – FFN cuts the chapter in half if I attempt to edit. Apologies if you're caught up in this.

--

--

CHAPTER 04 - LISTEN TO THE CRIES OF THE PLANET

--

--

-- INTERLUDE: SECTOR 2 --

Wedge was a hardcore fan of Barret. He had been since before he'd even got the gun on his arm, since before he'd even got signed in the first place. He bought every album and single that came out, went to see every tour (twice), and spent what was left over from his wages (he still lived in his parent's basement. Ah, freedom.) on merchandise. Right now, he had just enough scraped together to get a set of blinging dog tags, worn by the man himself.

He waddled along the street in his Bape sneakers (Barret has this exact pair, you know) and hoodie, the jewellery store just at the end of the street, bobbing his head in time to the banging tune his walkman was providing through a set of snazzy can headphones.

Something filtered through the haze of strings, drums, and spoken word. Wedge hated it when real life did that. He took the contraption out of his pocket to turn it up, casting a glance about to root out the offender.

The sound seemed to be coming from the album store just beside the jeweller's. Wedge blanched slightly, and slipped the headphones around his neck to listen to what exactly they were playing. He recognized it instantly, of _course _he did, everybody had seen that performance on Reeve and Cait, _everybody _had ripped the song off youtube an hour later. It wasn't Wedge's thing; not enough guns and ladies for his liking, but he had to admit, it was damn good.

He found himself watching the video in the window, just like every other passer by.

Before he quite knew what was happening, he was wandering through the store to what was the biggest podium he'd ever seen, pushing through the throngs to get to the assembled CDs. Alright, so it wasn't his thing. Getting a copy just for the sake of it wouldn't hurt.

He reached out to snag one, and found his hand colliding with another.

"Oh, Biggs," he said, affectedly casual, trying to look like he'd just happened to be here, "hey. What are – what are you here for?"

Biggs was also a big fan of Barret. He wasn't _quite_ down with it as Wedge was, because Biggs had to split his money on a shitty apartment in Sector 3 as well, but he thought himself pretty hardcore. He was wearing a headscarf and football shirt combo, complete with the thick gold chains around his neck. No Bape sneakers, but there was that shitty apartment to take into account.

He was also looking very edgy, and his eyes darted from Wedge to the music stand and back again, before he slouched, easy and affectedly comfortable, giving Wedge a handshake (which, by the way, was middle finger to thumb then snap, which Biggs had spent weeks practising so it made the proper sound).

"Yo, Wedge. Wassup? Nothin' much, Jes' lookin' around." His other hand was still reaching for the CD. He dropped it quickly and crammed it into his pocket, keeping that cool look on his face. Or trying to. He nodded his head. "Sho' busy today."

Wedge paled slightly. He'd forgotten to use the Talk. Not only was he here reaching for a damn Sephiroth album, he'd forgotten _the Talk. _He nodded in fervent agreement, hazarding a casual look around, damning Biggs for always being so damn prepared for these situations.

"Hells yeah," he said when he remembered how he was meant to sound. His eyes kept shifting to look at the cover. He couldn't help it. It _made _him. "Must be all dem folks tryin' to get dat new album, y'know?"

Of course he did. They _all _did. What was he doing trying to pretend he didn't even know what it was? Time for a reassessment of the situation. He was to be cool but not so cool he ended up uncool.

_Word,_ he told himself, and looked around again.

"You uh – you lookin' fo' anythin' in particular?" He asked, eyeing Biggs with a shrewd, beady gaze whilst trying to casually steer himself to stand between his friend and the albums. "I heard dat new Aerith album's meant to be pretty ill, y'know, it got that duet with Tifa on there, and Barret did producin'. Pretty mean. Might hit up a couple'a singles…"

This was a losing battle on both sides. They both knew why they were there. They both knew where this would end up. But Wedge just couldn't accept it. Not like this.

"Marshall's launchin' a new single in a for'nigh', menna be real slick."

He was almost in tears. But so was Biggs.

"H- Hell yeah," Biggs replied, sweat beginning to bead on his brow, "Anythin' Barret knocks up must be worth somthin', fo' sho." He managed, but the tears were really beginning to smart in his eyes. "An' Marshall – he jes' – he jes' –"

He couldn't take it anymore. The tears had slipped down his cheeks and he leaned forward, giving out a sob, "Don' do this t' me, man! Don'! I'm jes' here to get that new Sephiroth CD! What if he go missin' again, yo?" He put the back of his hand to his face and wiped away the tears, "This shit gonna be huge man! I jes' gotta get in mah part!"

Biggs was never a strong person, after all. It had never been in his blood. It was the reason he hero-worshipped a big black man with a gun on his arm and smacked up bitches and ho's and the likes. It was the same with Wedge, had always been the same with Wedge, and that was why they simultaneously collapsed against each other, rallying themselves with a chorus of 'it's okay, man, we're okay, it's cool'.

"Come on, man, pull you'self together," Wedge said eventually, drawing himself up and sniffling pitifully, "We a'ight man, we a'ight."

He looked at the CDs.

"Come on, man. Together now." They exchanged desperate glances. By this point, a security guard was watching them, but over the minutes they spent gazing at each other and sweating, his eyebrow raised higher. Evidently, two little fairies had decided to start something. Deciding they were just poofters and not actually thieves, he relaxed.

"Maybe we should – maybe we should get five, y'know?"

Biggs sniffed and wiped his eyes on the corner of his football shirt. Wedge was such a good pal. And it wasn't like it was going to impact on how awesome Barret was if they bought a Sephiroth CD. Barret would still be phat. He'd understand. Everyone would understand.

Except Biggs didn't seem to understand why there would be a need for buying five copies of the CD. That might threaten Barret a little.

"Yo – why – why five, man?"

Wedge looked around shiftily once more, attempting to think fast. It didn't quite work, but eventually, after shifting his hefty weight, he was composed enough to glance at Biggs like he was an idiot. "Because, foo', what about our families? My momma's in a wheelchair, she can't jes' go gettin' herself no dang album!"

This reasoning wasn't quite profound enough. Biggs was still looking at him in the way he might somebody who'd just tipped into crazy territory.

"Besides, man, what if he goes missin' again? I say stock up."

"Shit. Shit, yeah."

Wedge seized up five and started waddling to the counter, Biggs in his wake with an armful of them. Behind them, everybody within a radius where they could hear the exchange was now snatching up several each.

It never dawned on Wedge till he'd gotten home and listened to the thing five times through that he hadn't bought those dog tags, or that he didn't even have the money for them now.

He couldn't bring himself to care.

--

Cloud sank to his knees, balling his fists in the dirt. The earth scraped through his fingers, course against his skin, staining. He looked at the sword before him – a huge blade, almost as wide as he was – and screamed. The scream vibrated through the air, tearing out of his mouth and burning his throat and lungs. His vocal chords ached, he was seeing white, and he screamed again. The rain spattered on his face, stinging, biting, uncaring, and the wind howled alongside him, mourning just as he was.

"CUT!" his director shouted. Cloud stopped screaming and looked up. At almost exactly the same time, someone turned off the water and wind. The effect of Cloud being alone on a rocky outcrop was lessened somewhat.

He stood, putting a hand to his throat and rubbing it. He'd be hoarse tonight, which Aerith would whine at him for. She seemed to be of the opinion that Cloud had a lovely voice, and was ruining it with all the screaming and shouting he did in his songs. Needless to say, with her happy and bouncy world-is-wonderful sort of music, she did not agree with the rebellious, hardcore truths that Cloud laid out for the world in his.

Life _did_ suck that much. She had to admit it.

A prime example was that Cloud, despite planning, despite foresight, had been unable to record the Reeve and Cait interview of Sephiroth (oh, all right, and the Remnants). He didn't know how it had happened. Admittedly he had it bookmarked on youtube, but it wasn't the same. The bigger, stinging problem was that he had been somehow, inexplicably, unable to get his hands on a copy of the album yet. As a member of the WRO, he felt he should have been able to get one far more easily than say, an average joe on the street. Average joes on the street did not, however, have stingy directors who anally pinpointed every problem in making the video and refused to let the star out before the shops closed.

They also did not have clingy Aeriths, who had begged Reeve and Tifa and Barret not to make this easy for Cloud. Barret and Tifa, people of understanding, knew that they should agree to this, because Cloud's addiction was intense. Reeve was just a pushover and would do anything for you if you gave him hot chocolate or said 'So, is that Vincent checking you out or _what_,' to him.

Cloud was, therefore, in a rather terse mood. He glared at his director and accepted the towel to run through his hair. "What?" he said, "What's wrong with it _now_?"

"Now _calm _down, Cloudy," the director, Pietro by name, was the type of man who believed everybody should have a nickname, even if it just meant adding a 'y' to the end of your name to make it cuter. A frilly violet shirt was worn with skinny black jeans and a blue bandana was bound around his wavy blonde hair. "You're doing _marvellously_," he went on, his accent one which still bore the inflection of Costa del Sol, even if he'd spent over a decade in Midgar, "really, marvellously. But something's _missing_!"

He rose from his chair, trotted over to the set and took Cloud by the wrist, leading him over to where one of his 'virtual artists' as he called them was sitting with a laptop. There was a montage of images – Cloud, alone in a small, cramped, run down room with very little light; Cloud, in that same small room but performing with a band; and Cloud, on the rocky outcrop, screaming his little heart out. It was the epitome of post fucking hardcore.

"Really, Cloudy, I _love _what we've got so far," he crooned, now glaring pointedly at the set, "_Love _it. But it's _missing _something and I don't know _what._" Searching desperately for inspiration, he began looking about them wildly. "Something to make it _edgier_, more _profound_, something to really _stamp _on your brand!"

All of a sudden, he clicked his fingers, standing in the fluorescent light like he'd just been gifted by a divine power. You couldn't be blamed for expecting that he'd set up the whole thing.

"I _have _it!" He cried, clutching poor, poor, post hardcore Cloud by the upper arms, "Your motorbike!"

"_Fenrir_?" Cloud gasped, completely unaware that giving a bike a name was actually kind of lame, and that Tifa and Barret thought it made him all the cuter. He stared at Pietro with wide eyes.

Having the bike in the shoot would be a mixed blessing. On one hand, it was Cloud's beloved bike and he adored it. It'd be great to work with it, even though it would really just be a prop. On the other hand, it was Cloud's beloved bike, and if anyone scratched it, chipped the paintjob, fiddled with the settings, complained about the noise or did anything remotely bad to it in any possible way, Cloud would eat them alive like so much pineapple.

"You want me," he said, "Sitting on Fenrir, looking at the sword, screaming?" he asked, staring at the director levelly, "and that's all you want, right? Nothing else?" Pietro had been pushing Cloud for a while. But the post hardcore kid had put up with a lot from him. He'd even put up with 'Cloudy'. He did trust the bastard, in a way, but this was something huge.

In truth, it was something so huge that Cloud didn't notice who'd slipped through the door and was watching, which was saying something, because he had senses for that kind of thing.

"Excellent!" The director proclaimed, taking this as full consent, "Bring out the bike!" Because, of course, just in case he'd already had it brought in. Just in case. He _hadn't _had this entire thing planned since this morning as his artistic vision and because Reeve had slipped him a tip for taking up as much of Cloud's time as possible.

The bike was wheeled into the centre of the rocky outcrop, Pietro guiding the poor temps on where _exactly _to place it. "Splendid! Now, Cloudy, I want you straddling that thing, screaming. Writhe a bit, the people will _love _it, and remember, you're _mourning_! The unthinkable has happened and you just don't know how to cope with it!"

He shooed Cloud towards the set, "get rid of the sword whilst we're at it, we'll use that for another scene. So come on, let's get the rain and wind back, Cloudy you get astride that beast and _lament_, alright? You have all this rage and sadness built up inside and you need to let it all out!"

Cloud was shooed onto the set before he could protest, aware only vaguely that Pietro had used entirely too homosexual words for him to be exactly comfortable with in context with his bike. But he had climbed on anyway, stroking Fenrir's handles lovingly for a moment as if the thing were alive. He half expected it to purr.

He watched as Pietro held up his fingers. _Three._

The song was about losing a loved one. It usually was. Losing a loved one and inner turmoil. Cloud focused on that.

_Two._

Plus, he hadn't got that CD yet.

_One._

Cloud threw the top half of his body back, arms outstretched, palms upward, opened his mouth and screamed as the rain and the wind started up again. He writhed on Fenrir, allowing the rain to bite at him, allowing the wind to scream with him, allowing the world to see his pain, his anguish, and his heartache.

At one point he snapped his head back and pulled his hands down, posed somewhat like an over-the-top anime character and somehow making it look _good_. Maybe it would have looked shit in any other video that wasn't post hardcore, but Cloud would have still looked pretty hot. He was giving it his all. He had something burning within him, and the world could see it.

All eyes in the room were on him, from the director to his cronies to the oh so Mysterious Watcher who'd slid in a few minutes before and was now standing by the door, leaning casually against the wall. Five minutes of screaming himself hoarse, and the command 'CUT' rang through the room again, leaving Cloud astride his motorbike, sopping wet and wind tousled.

Uproariously, the director applauded, hollering Cloud's praises. The cronies busied themselves with clearing up, one lucky girl fighting her way past her friends to be the one to offer Cloud a towel and a bottle of water. The Mysterious Watcher had, of course, disappeared Mysteriously, but the door had barely finished swinging on its hinges when it opened wide again, and Tifa Lockheart came striding through, all four inch heels, swinging hips, and bouncing breasts. Forget ideas of fame and fortune, she was the main reason most men were working here.

She had a huge hold-all clutch bag (one of those ones made infamous by the press for causing many women to dislocate shoulders) held at her side, and offered Cloud a friendly wave with her free hand before beckoning him over.

"Hey you!" She called out, winking at him surreptitiously, "What are you doing working so late? It's past six!"

Cloud thanked the girl, completely oblivious to her blushes and stammers, and gulped the bottle greedily. He needed that. His throat felt raw. One bad thing about the whole fame and fortune thing was the strained voice after a while. That and he supposed getting stopped on the street and asked for autographs. Granted that happened a lot more when out with Tifa or Barret, but he had it done to himself a surprising amount.

He was still towelling his hair when he caught sight of Tifa, and smiled very slightly at her. With a worried glance over at Fenrir (who was being lovingly cared for by several of Pietro's cronies), he walked over, eyeing the bag.

"Got kept up. Changed everything he possibly could," he said, with a rasp in his voice that made him think, almost unpleasantly, of Vincent. Vincent was cool and all, and pretty fucking hardcore, but Cloud didn't want to end up talking _just_ like him. He cleared his throat, "Guess I missed out on getting the CD again," he rasped, allowing himself a small, furtive 'Fuck' before looking back at Tifa.

"Why are you still here?"

"I'm not. I was wondering where you were and Aerith said you were still in shoot, so I came to have a peek. Did you bring dry clothes or do I get to walk you home like this?" She pressed on, leering at him shamelessly, "I noticed you were getting yourself some attention, eh?" This was followed up by a flurry of little punches to his upper arm, as Tifa hopped from one elevated foot to the other, the spike heels sounding more like a clash of swords than anything else.

"You go get changed!" She demanded, prodding the small of his back, "I'll wait out here! Chop chop!"

He darted from her reach, glaring at her in furious embarrassment as he stalked away in his wet clothes. It wasn't that he couldn't take her – they'd sparred together on occasion – it was that Tifa sometimes forgot how hard she could hit, and gave her all when just playing. And her all was a hell of a lot. And anyway, it wasn't like Cloud had intended to stand there in his sopping clothes and talk to her. Not at all.

Changing into dry clothes as quickly as he could, he watched as Fenrir was lovingly and carefully wheeled back outside, the motorbike treated with all the love and respect that a newborn would be given. If a newborn was about half a ton of pure metal, that was.

It was only when it was safely outside that Cloud realised that Tifa had mentioned someone was giving him attention. He frowned slightly, wondering who it could be. Tifa was known for reading too much into situations, in his opinion, and this could just be the case. He approached her casually, making sure to stand a little out of her reach.

"Huh." He said, "Who was paying me attention?"

He wasn't as good at it as some, all right?

Tifa grinned at him, closing the gap between them to hook her arm through his and start leading him outside into the car park. "Ooh, tall guy," she said, as they walked over the concrete, "green eyes. Hair that matched his car – ooh, what do you know, I think that's it there!" Jerking her head in the direction of a sleek silver convertible parked beside the building, she dragged Cloud onward.

Pinning her oversized bag against her hip with her upper arm, she started rummaging through it one-handed, the other still clutching onto Cloud. "I picked you up a present today," she said elusively, pulling a silver plastic bag from within it, emblazoned with the words mako:CHARGED – the largest entertainment store on Gaia.

"Take it then," she instructed, waving it at him. Her expression teetered between a full blown grin and dubious guilt, because by doing this she was _technically _breaking rules but was it _really _breaking rules when she'd had her fingers crossed the entire time? Besides, Cloud needed a break from all his post-hardcore bullshit.

Cloud's face had drained of colour at the mention of Sephiroth, but he hadn't been able to do much more than sputter "Sh-shut up," at Tifa before she whipped out the bag. Now Cloud's face had gone completely white, but two red spots were beginning to grow on his pale face. His eyes sparkled with a brittle brightness, and all-in-all he looked a little bit like a fever victim having a rather lucid moment. His mouth opened and closed, but it didn't seem to work all that well.

With trembling hands, he took the bag from Tifa and held it, closed, to his chest. It took a long time before he reached a hand in and took out the CD.

It looked exactly the same as all the CD cases he'd so jealously spotted others holding – a black sleeve with silver text placed over a network of fine green lines - except for one small detail, and that one small detail stood out and screamed at him to pay attention to it as if it were The Voice itself.

**Sephiroth **and the** Remnants**

**Geostigma**

_**Special Limited Edition**_

He stared at it. Slowly, he looked back up at Tifa, and a real grin split his face, bright and gloriously happy, and he reached out and pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her almost like he'd hold Aerith.

"I – you didn't – I – thanks," he stuttered, still grinning like an idiot. "I thought I'd never –"

She was giggling at him, unable to move her arms for how tightly his were locked around her. "I know what you thought," she jested, "This one's got fancier art. And videos. All the videos from all the singles before they've even been released. And three live recordings. I dunno. You probably know all the extras already. Just enjoy it."

She wriggled free – well, she was released, but only because Cloud now wanted to drool over the album itself. He kept turning the sleek box through his hands, as it was some kind of relic. A very quiet part of Tifa's brain, her logic, wondered if this had been a good idea. She did, as she always did, beat it down ruthlessly and ignore it.

"Tour dates have been released, by the way," she went on, "Three Midgar dates for you to choose from, tickets go on sale noon tomorrow, so you might want to head straight over to the WRO venue and join the queue. Sephiroth _really _hates wasting time, doesn't he?"

She took hold of him again to guide him off the road to safety, just in time for the aforementioned silver car to cruise by them, four men sporting hair the same colour as the slick paint job sitting within. You could recognise them each by their style. Tifa liked that in a band. She grinned at Cloud again, swaying as though uncertain.

"Tifa do good then?"

"… You did amazing," Cloud eventually managed to say, stowing the CD back into the bag and slipping it into one of the deeper pockets on his jeans. He zipped it in, carefully, and wondered about its safety when he rode Fenrir. He eventually concluded that it would be safe enough, and that he liked feeling it there. It was a comforting weight.

"I'll need to check the dates," he said, voice still a bit strained, eyes on the car, which was just turning on the bend in the road. Sephiroth had been that close to him. Sephiroth had nearly run him down, and would have if Tifa hadn't saved him. Cloud felt honoured. "Might have something on on them," he added. If he did, then it would be cancelled. He'd see if he could pull any weight to getting backstage, maybe even. He felt oddly giddy.

"Mm-hmm," Tifa noted, though her expression was still disconcertingly sly. In any other circumstance, Cloud would be deeply unnerved, but currently he could not shift the all encompassing haze of delight that had settled within his chest. "Well, they're expected to sell out quick. I've heard some people are planning to buy one for Costa del Sol or Mideel just so they don't miss out. They've already sold every special edition album, and people are scouring the city for stores that still have the CD itself in stock. Apparently the folks at the ticket booth have already been threatened with arson and murder if they don't start releasing them sooner. Some guy in Sector 5 got mugged coming out of a store. It's crazy."

She nudged him again, expectant. "You're still coming to the label party next Friday, right?" Her amicable smile became downright improper again. "Because, y'know, Robby heard from Andy who heard from Josh who heard Kadaj talking to Yazoo at their video shoot says they're going to be there. You could _mingle._"

--

And, as it turned out, Cloud was indeed still going to the label party. He had been planning to all along, to be sure, but the added news that Sephiroth and the Remnants might be there had really spurred it along. Even if it was only a rumour heard from Tifa heard from Robby heard from Andy heard from Josh overhead from Kadaj talking to Yazoo.

The party was held at a rather swanky venue on the upper plate, where most of the partygoers actually lived anyway. Next Fridays seem to come very quickly in this world, after all. Cloud had spent his week nursing a sore throat and listening to the special edition of Geostigma on repeat. He'd also bought himself tickets for the show, having found that he did indeed have the leverage to still do so at such a late time, and, all in all, considered it a week well spent. He could handle a little party.

Reeve liked to throw these things every year or so, saying that they helped keep the spirit and let everyone mingle and get to know each other. Some people took to it naturally, but Cloud had had to have been persuaded the first few times. Eventually he admitted that it was good fun, and came to the others without complaint.

The largest room was where the majority of the people were gathered, and also where the buffet table was. Barret and Tifa were already there with Cloud, and they were hovering nearby. Aerith liked to show up to these things fashionably late. It was something you could almost time.

Right on cue, she entered, and the room's attention focused on her. She was dressed in a flirty creation of crimson chiffon, and her hair was loose but for a red flower nestled within it. She looked stunning, or at least, she did, until your eyes travelled down to her feet.

When she eventually made her way through the crowd to join with Cloud and their friends, she was met with a look of pure fury from Tifa.

"Where are your shoes?"

"What?"

"We went out and bought you nice shoes. They were Louboutins. Why the hell are you wearing those things?"

Aerith bristled, clasped her hands at her waist, and sidled close to Cloud for support. "These are more comfortable," she argued, "More practical."

"Ridiculous!" Was the reply, Barret placing a supportive hand on Tifa's shoulder, "Why aren't you wearing them?"

The ridiculously shod female looked to Cloud for help. "I couldn't really walk in them, Tifa…"

"Two inches! That heel was two inches and you couldn't _walk _in it?"

"If it makes you feel any better, you could have them."

Placated by this offer, Tifa, folded her arms under her chest and gave a sullen shrug. "Well, fine," she muttered, "so long as you haven't already stretched them with you're big ol' clown feet."

Aerith looked hurt, and she dropped her eyes down to her ridiculous boots, shuffling them against the expensive floor in shame. Cloud reached a hand to cover hers, which was resting on his arm, and said "Tifa," in a quiet sort of voice. It was the one he used on people when he was telling them they'd gone too far - mainly Reeve with his niceness, Pietro with his directing, and Tifa waking him up.

It should be noted that it rarely ever worked, but the effort he put in to make it like The Voice was admirable.

Aerith smiled a little at that, cheered up to know that Cloud was standing up for her. Since the night of the Reeve and Cait show, she had been a little wary of him. It wasn't like Cloud to snap and to glare so often. He was usually stoic and silent in an oddly goofy kind of way. Having him defend her seemed a little step back to the bumbling, wannabe hardass that he usually was

Barret was shaking his head. "Dang, Aerith," he said, faintly, "At least you got the looks." He shared a meaningful glance at Tifa, which quite clearly said _to make people think you're a pretty dyke, at least_. Cloud, who had turned to the table and was liberating the chunks of pineapple sandwiched between ham and cheese from the little toothpicks, didn't notice. Nor did Aerith. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and she was pleased to see that there were no silver-haired men. Perhaps they hadn't decided to come, after all.

Everyone knew that that only meant the limelight would be on her, her ugly dress, and her stupid, _stupid_ boots. Goddammit, Aerith, and you really are so freaking pretty, too.

"Reeve really is clever, throwing these things," she said, trying to start conversation that wouldn't pertain to her feet, "It really gets us all together, you know?" She giggled, looking about for the man in the crowds. She spotted him talking to some lesser-known artists a small distance away, and found herself frowning slightly. He seemed to be missing something. But what could it be?

"Wait," she said, remembering, "Where's Vincent?"

"I haven't seen him all night," Tifa supplied, rocking on her tiptoes in an effort to catch sight of the ever elusive old rock star. This was not much of a stretch, because in her spiked shoes she was almost teetering anyway. There was a brief, preoccupied moment where the two women attempted to catch sight of him, because it just wasn't _right _seeing Reeve without his shadow. It was shattered by Cloud hissing something like 'fucktards', and they turned to see that he'd cleared the toothpicks of all their pineapple.

A little concernedly, Aerith took hold of his wrist and tugged him over again, offering him one of her bright and easy smiles. Barret had an oddly pensive look on his face, odd because it wasn't an expression one expected to see upon his face. "Ain't he been assigned as the bodyguard for the Remnants?"

All eyes fell, once more, to Cloud, the undisputed leader in the field. They made a point of ignoring the fact that with his cheeks stuffed, rodent-like, with pineapple, he didn't look like he could even be a blade of grass in a field, let alone the leader of one.

Cloud threw a small fistful of now only ham-and-cheese toothpicks back on the bowl, and chewed thoughtfully on the pineapple before swallowing (an impressive effort from Cloud, who usually just inhaled the damn stuff) some of it and gesturing with his hands.

"Yeah, Reeve thought with the popularity they'd need someone to help protect them," there was a faint tone of distaste in his voice - or at seemed like it, around the pineapple, "so he sent Vincent off with them. Apparently none of the five were happy about that - well, you've all heard the rumours about the Jenova Project," he paused here to join in the communal shudder. The Jenova Project was the grandparent of all music to date, but it was the one all music to date was embarrassed about, because that grandparent was a mass murdering rapist.

"Anyway," Cloud said, once they had all stopped shuddering in horror and secret love, "Vincent's with them. And I don't see why he has to be," he added, indignantly. "It's not like Sephiroth needs protection. He -" his eyes seemed to grow a little glassy here, and he was getting himself into a fanboy rant. There was nothing to do but to weather the storm. "Sephiroth commanded the Shin-Ra army against Wutai when he was in his early _twenties_. He could beat Angeal _and_ Genesis in a fight with ease, and those two could take down the Wutai elite," he fizzed, and Tifa, Aerith and Barret could almost see the bubbles, "He still has the _sword_. And who would attack him anyway? I mean, really, the man still has that reputation."

"I dunno," Barret said, in an undertone, "Some rabid fanboys, maybe?"

Tifa and Aerith snorted behind their hands. Cloud failed to hear, thankfully, because he was staring off wistfully, mouth slightly slack. Aerith was quite sure she knew what he was thinking about – that afternoon, Cloud hadn't sat down until she'd had to listen to a secret clip from Geostigma, which only played if you left the album running for another hour. Admittedly, Sephiroth had a very nice voice, and she'd got tingles along with the rest of Gaia at the sound of him saying 'I will never by a memory', but being forced to listen to it all of seventeen times was deemed excessive.

"Well, he'll probably arrive when they do, I guess," Tifa surmised with a shrug, taking a sip of her drink – a Tifa Titter; one she'd designed herself, a sweet but lethal cocktail featuring fruit juice, grenadine, and some of Gaia's deadliest liquers, which was now quite infamously popular in Midgar's hotspots.

"_If _they do," Aerith corrected, perhaps a little too hopefully, and cast a pitying glance at Cloud – the type of look a parent might give a child who thought they were going to the Golden Saucer but were actually going to dentist. "It _was _just a rumour."

Deciding that the conversation should veer away from the subject of her rival, she smiled at her boyfriend again. "How's your recording been going, Cloud?"

It was not a rumour in Cloud's mind. It was a shining beacon of light and truth that Sephiroth was going to show up at this party – the only reason he had been exceptionally _keen_ to go. He had been going to go before, but after he found that out, he had suddenly decided that, even if Ifrit went by him on skis, he was going to get there. He was going to be in the same room as the Great Sephiroth – something he'd only done once before, when Zack had managed to get a backstage pass. He'd promptly fainted, and hadn't come to until he was back at home, with a hovering, worried Zack and Mom peering down at him.

That had been then, however. Cloud had been fifteen then. Now, he was older, wiser, and still as hopelessly a fanboy as ever. But he was cooler about it. A little bit. And, weirdly enough, something very like the words "Fucking rad" seemed to echo in his head whenever he thought of that time.

The fact that he was thinking all of the above was painfully obvious when he jerked, surprised, at Aerith's question. He blinked at her for a moment, unsure of himself, and then gave another small smile, then another shrug, "All right," he answered, boringly, "Should be finished soon. What about yours?" If Aerith was indeed releasing a new video. Cloud realised with a pang of guilt that he hadn't been keeping up to date on his girlfriend's career recently.

_Oh Cloud,_ came a voice, surprisingly like his own, if a little more feminine, _Why the fuck would you? I mean, seriously._

_He blinked. You again?_

_No, you. Hi!_

_Go away._

_No. When do you think he'll be here?_

_Go. Away._ He repeated firmly, and opened his eyes, which he hadn't realised he'd closed. He was greeted with Aerith's slightly worried face, and gave her a nonchalant shrug to try and brush it off.

"Cloud, are you okay?" The words eventually made themselves heard in the Sephiroth-filled recesses of Cloud's mind, and he hazarded a smile and a nod by way of reply. They placated his well-meaning girlfriend for the time being, and her hand found his. It was no secret that she was worrying about him. He'd gone from being consistently quiet to what was, essentially, manic, and it wasn't just paranoia that pinned it on the return of the silver haired general. Aerith had, for the first time in years, experienced how it felt to have an album come at number two rather than number one, and it was not pleasant.

"I'm getting the last bits and pieces ready to release Delphinium Dream as the next single," she answered, to her credit sounding highly optimistic about this. Mercifully, Sephiroth hadn't picked _her _release date again for his – no, _their _– second single. "Next week I'm performing on Reeve and Cait, and then I have to tour. But you'll be alright, won't you?"

"I'll be fine," assured Cloud, another stab of guilt that he hadn't known about Aerith's single, nor her performing on Reeve and Cait. He'd have to make sure he watched that one.

Truth be told, he was a little curious as to why Aerith would think he wouldn't be. Of course, he was Cloud, and wasn't entirely aware that his obsession on Sephiroth was unhealthy. There were times when he thought about it and felt strangely discomforted – often when Aerith was around, to be honest – to be sure, but it was only something that bothered him until the next song came on, or some such.

And that, my friends, is because Cloud is a dipshit. Honestly, he's the psycho stalker fanboy that nobody wants and is always aware on some level that they have. Kind of like the Jenova Project let people know that there was this dark little bit inside of them that is steeped in debauchery, a dark little bit which makes itself known, for example, when the president of the world finds himself looking at his faux-hawked teenage son flipping him off and wanting to say, "Why yes, Rufus m'boy, I would very _much_ like to sit on it".

"Just as long as you take care," he said, and raised his hand to gently touch her cheek in what was sure to be a sickeningly sweet, media-spasming moment, had the doors of the room not just been thrown wide to emit three silver haired men.

Or two and one teenager, to be exact.

Tifa's attention swung from Aerith's boots to the trio, at which point she decided the time was ripe to exclaim, "Y'know, you don't notice how much of a _piece _that Loz is till he's close by!" Barret, sensing that the Tifa Titters were beginning to have an adverse effect on their creator already, much like Frankenstein, placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.

The Remnants stood for a moment, looking over the crowd from on high like deities themselves, basking in the attention, and then fluidly parted as Sephiroth entered to stand alongside them. For a moment, time itself stopped to ogle the sight.

And then they were moving down the stairs, and three quarters of the room were fighting to make their way over to them, and they disappeared under a swarm of attention. Or at least, Sephiroth did. His brothers slipped away to avoid being caught up in it, and left the general to signing napkins, clothes, body parts; anything that those accosting him had.

Tifa was still, and appeared slightly catatonic, as though there had been a vicious tornado that had torn through everything but somehow left her intact.

"I felt that," she said, blinking, "I actually _felt _him come in."

There was absolutely no mistaking Sephiroth's Presence. Like most things that pertained to him, it achieved proper noun status.

Cloud was in the exact same state as Tifa. If exact same meant magnified tenfold. It was a good thing that he had nothing in his hands, because it would have slipped and crashed to the floor. It was also good that he had finally managed to swallow the pilfered pineapple, because his mouth had fallen open, and he really didn't need to be seen by the Great Sephiroth with half-masticated pulp falling out of his mouth.

With the crowd of people swarming around him, however, it seemed unlikely that Cloud would get anywhere near Sephiroth. It was probably a good thing, in retrospect.

Eventually, Cloud managed to get himself under some semblance of control, and nodded to Tifa. "He does have a presence. He always did." His eyes were still fixed on the musical god. His head of silver hair was easily visible among the thronging crowd. Cloud was almost glad that he wasn't a part of it. He could hear some of the things that were being said to him.

"Where were you?"

"Would you go out with me?"

"Sign my bra, please!"

"This is for my wife – make it out to Stephen…"

The Remnants, not that Cloud and co. had really noted, had shuffled closer to the buffet table and were looking about a little incredulously. Given as this was their first fancy record-label party, the three of them didn't really know how to react. They were also trying very hard to ignore the red eyes that were flickering from them to Sephiroth from the shadows. It was amazing that Vincent could seem so invisible whilst dressed like an absolute fuckhead, but the Remnants had come to terms with that, as well.

Yazoo reached over to a small plate of vol-au-vents and sniffed at them. For someone who had an allergy ranging from grass to shellfish, it probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. However, Kadaj's hopeful gaze turned mildly disappointed when his brother did not start to swell up and choke. Yazoo seemed pleased, and took a mushroom vol-au-vent from the plate. Loz shuffled his boots against the floor, looking over at Sephiroth with an expression close to longing.

"Hey, Kadaj," Yazoo eventually said, somehow managing to lounge back against the table stacked with food, "is that… your idol over there?"

"Huh?" said Kadaj, following Yazoo's gaze, where it came to rest of Cloud. He scowled. "Fuck off."

"But I thought you'd be happy to see him…"

"Don't be mean, Yazoo." Loz said, peering over in Cloud's direction with good natured curiosity.

"Shut up, Loz," snapped the eldest of the trio, but his expression soon melted, "I'm sorry. Don't cry, brother. Please."

His lip curling, Kadaj shook his head and walked away from his brothers. He could go closer to Vincent, which was undesirable, or hang around near his brother and feel eclipsed, which was also undesirable, because Sephiroth always had this way of making Kadaj feel inferior, and he just knew that anyone who looked at them both were comparing their penis sizes and finding Kadaj to be lacking.

So, he could either hang around like a loser away from everyone else, or he could bother Cloud and his gang, meaning that a) Yazoo would gloat and that b) he'd be standing way too close to Aerith for his own comfort. She unnerved him. People shouldn't seem that… content with the Planet. Not when Mother wasn't around.

"I think Tifa's pretty," Loz said, probably much more loudly than he had intended. Kadaj winced as he saw the massive black guy, Barret, raise his head and look over. He nudged Cloud in the ribs and gestured over. The emo guy looked at them for all of a half-second before staring at Sephiroth again. Kadaj couldn't help but feel a little hurt by that, at very least.

"You and the rest of Gaia," drawled Yazoo, who was probably eying her breasts.

"No, the rest of Gaia's staring at _him_."

"Well, the rest of Gaia can go fuck themselves," Kadaj muttered, savagely, and then nearly wet himself as Barret turned to face him, giving him an intimidating once-over and a "You a'ight, little guy?"

Kadaj _seethed_.

Oh, how he longed to answer with a vicious _no, I'm not alright, jerk off, so go asshole at somebody else and leave me alone._ Yazoo, seamlessly picking up on this (as he always had to, the bastard) gave him a look – eerily similar to one of Sephiroth's, only far more diluted – which said, very clearly, _don't._

And so he didn't. But damned if his mouth didn't twitch like he was having some kind of painful seizure. Barrett eyed him for a moment, eyebrow raised, then shrugged and looked away again, allowing Kadaj to half hiss, half spit a profanity in his direction. Yazoo's napkin wielding fingers came to deftly wipe away the saliva he'd expended in the effort, and their eyes flicked once again to their older brother.

His silver head was barely visible above the sea of people (unless you were Cloud, who had been practically been _born_with an x-ray ability when it came to Sephiroth), but they were gradually thinning. Every now and then, the air of chatter and general shiny happy people-ness (Reeve organized this, after all, there would be hell to pay if anything else happened) would be shattered by a shriek of 'AH SEPHIROTH' or 'MAKE LOVE TO ME' or 'I TAKE YOU HOME, I MAKE YOU CHOCOLATE CAKE'. As it was, he was _almost _tempted to take them up on the offer, but he was too busy making out an autograph to a woman he presumed was the wife of Stephen, as apparently her husband's name was Luella.

At that moment, Cloud would have given his soul to be either Stephen, or Luella, or any of the masses that were swarming the General. Tifa could see it in his eyes – the mako glow seemed all the more intense, fevered, and his jaw was slightly slack. She rallied to the cause, trotted down the table to retrieve more pineapple, and brought it back to wave it under his noise.

He was, thankfully, roused from his likely very subconsciously homoerotic reverie, and blinked at her. "What?"

"You're gonna burn a hole in him, staring like that, lover boy. Eat your pineapple."

"Oh," Cloud blinked at the fruit in Tifa's hand for a moment, but then took it graciously, "Thanks," he said, and turned his eyes back to the crowd around Sephiroth. He'd love to just dive in there, run up to him and throw himself down at his feet. Cloud remembered what Zack had said about the man – Zack, who'd always tried to convince Cloud to meet him before he'd gone – and knew that he would like that. Probably like it a lot.

Tifa sighed and shook her head. It was useless trying to snap Cloud out of such a thing for any length of time. She'd remembered the tirade Cloud had gotten himself into when he'd realised that he hadn't recorded the Reeve and Cait show. Tifa had her thoughts, but she couldn't prove that Aerith had sabotaged it – not even if she'd wanted to. Cloud had run off somewhere private with that huge sword Zack had left him. She'd found him hours later in the pouring rain chopping scrap metal to bits with it, post fucking hardcore as always.

"Don't be cruel to other people, Kadaj," Yazoo drawled in the meantime, a little distance away. He licked his thumb and rubbed it against Kadaj's cheek, as if wiping off some stain. Kadaj growled, hissed and jerked his head away, face burning and eyes glowing with resentment. The cat-like grin on his brother's face told him that the bastard was enjoying this all too much. "After all," Yazoo continued, pretending to sort Kadaj's hair, which made the younger one try to snap at his fingers, "I know you're ever so entranced by Cloud Strife and Barret Wallace. What's that dance you want to learn how to do, the Soldier Boy one…?"

"Shutupshutupshutup!" Hissed Kadaj, going even redder than before and twitching out of Yazoo's reach. He cast a panicked look over to see if either of the two had heard. Was Barret looking at him again? He turned his hating eyes back to Yazoo. "Tonight, I'm biting through every single fucking pulse-point you have."

Yazoo opened his mouth to give what was certain to be a stinging reply, but then it went slack and he stared, horrified, at some point over Kadaj's shoulder. Kadaj frowned, and then turned to look as well. True, there was still the swarming crowd around Sephiroth making a bit of noise, but an odd sort of hush had fallen over the assembled guests as well. It was easy to see why, and to be perfectly honest, Kadaj was almost glad for his brother. He was shielded by a group of rabid fans. They were not.

Walking serenely through the crowds came a small man, perhaps Kadaj's height (a stinging observation to make) with long black hair and a pair of circular glasses. His face had the looks of one who used to be handsome but had let it all go to waste, and his eyes were a startling green, and fixed on the three Remnants (though, like everyone else, they were flickering back and forth towards Sephiroth).

Yazoo put his arms around Kadaj from behind and backed away, standing against Loz almost protectively. Kadaj didn't try to flail. For once no one could really mock him. Hojo was, after all, one of the most terrifying men on Gaia. Once he had been one of the most beautiful, one of the most successful, had even been in a relationship with Lucrecia Crescent, Vincent Valentine and the utterly stunning Jenova (Calamity?). Now, everyone knew him for a sociopathic monster who was pretty fucking ugly to boot. They'd all seen the 'Still Alive' video. Everyone knew why Vincent needed that claw.

Hojo stopped a few feet away from the three Remnants. His gaze flickered once more to Sephiroth, who, surrounded by his swarm, had luckily not seemed to notice him. They lingered for a moment, but then he turned them onto his three younger sons, and gave them a grin that would have made a cat hang its head in shame and let the mouse it was going to eat go.

"Hello, sons," came his greeting. Kadaj's fingers tightened on Loz's hand, which squeezed back. "I don't think I've seen you in quite some while now, hm?" Yazoo's arm was a comforting weight around Kadaj's shoulders, but it tightened now, as if the older brother was trying to pull the younger into himself, to further protect from this madman who was oozing grease and slime. Literally. It didn't look like he'd washed that labcoat before coming. It didn't look like he'd washed that hair in decades. Plus, he was leering. No one wanted Hojo to leer at them.

A swish of a red, a mental flourish of organ notes, and suddenly Vincent was standing between the Remnants and Hojo. The hall was still quiet, and watched the stand-off between these two old bandmates with some kind of awed reverence. When it wasn't shattered by the sudden screeches of "SEPHIROTH I LOVE YOU!" or "MAKE LOVE TO ME, I'LL WORSHIP YOU!" and the likes, that was.

"Vincent." Hojo said, his leer slipping. Green eyes bored into red. Hojo was smart, though. He actually wore the freaking glasses, whereas Vincent was too cool for that and tried to get by on the contacts. All ready they were itching – something the scientist noticed, and his leer came back. "I think I preferred you when you had short hair."

"Hojo." Came the rasp, along with the self-restraint not to rub at his eyes, "I preferred you when you were androgynous and beautiful."

"Oh, _burn_," Hojo cackled, much to everyone's surprise, "_I love it_," He leered, much to everyone's disgust. "Hoping for a few enhancements with that one, Vincent? Perhaps I can get you something for a pretentious fuck?"

"Oh, give me another, Professor Gast," Vincent bit back, "That one was _brilliant_."

A flicker of a scowl crossed Hojo's ugly face, but then he grinned again. The chatter was beginning to start back up in the hall once more, mainly because Reeve had casually trodden on someone's foot and loudly said 'So what about the Costa del Sol, hm? Hear it's lovely this time of year!'

Hojo opened his mouth to retort, and by this point Loz, who, largely due to his cheerful nature and short attention span, had decided that there were happier things to do than to watch two men who might possibly be their fathers swap insults and sexual tension, was leading his brothers away and closer to Tifa, Cloud, Aerith and Barret.

"Hi," he said, trying not to stare too much at Tifa. "Can we talk to you?" His grin only faltered slightly at the words flying behind him.

"Failure."

"Second-rate."

"Arse-lancer."

"Stoater-nova."

Tifa's eyes were resting resolutely upon the pair of word-bandying gentleman with something like an acute case of morbid curiosity. "Sure you can, sweetie," she said without really thinking, and then she realised that over one-hundred and sixty pounds of silver haired man was standing in front of her. She recovered almost instantaneously, thankfully, and struck her default 'hi there feel free to ogle respectfully' pose, smiling up at Loz, who she just so happened to find sexy enough to be able to ignore the dance of insults going on behind him. Oh, and Yazoo and Kadaj. Couldn't forget them. Because Yazoo reeked of a languid disregard and Kadaj's glower was virtually burning a hole in whatever it was he was glaring at. A quick glance showed it was Cloud, who hadn't noticed the fact that his skin was starting to sizzle under the pressure and was watching Sephiroth's silver head move.

"How are you doing?" She asked brightly, sipping her Tifa Titter and shuffling down the table in an effort to lure the brothers away from what was beginning to spiral entirely out of control.

"_Gast wannabe._"

"Lucrecia liked _me_ more_._"

"Hollander's _better_ than you, you vile dullard_._"

"_I_ got to raise the children, you dirty, boot-licking man-slut!"

At that last comment, the air in the room become slightly more charged. Sephiroth's head had twitched a little – Cloud's expression had become knotted in concern and something oddly protective. It took Barret to get things moving again, as he folded his huge arms over his huge chest and proclaimed that he was dreadfully fond of the cut of Kadaj's coat – in those precise words, as it happened.

Kadaj, seized by the mention of clothes, and a compliment directed solely at _him_, glowed. He began to launch into a rant about how princess seams were no longer just for women and could be adapted to fit any shape. It came as some surprise to the onlookers (those precious few who weren't hounding Sephiroth or staring distressedly at the exchange between his 'fathers', that was) that Barret not only knew precisely what he was talking about but added enthusiastically to the conversation.

Meanwhile, Tifa was sizing up her prey, that is, Loz. Had Cloud not been otherwise engaged by admiring in the most straight manner possible the way that the lights created a sort of shining halo on Sephiroth's silver head, he might have made a quip about how he was being victimized. But Loz did not get the warning, and Tifa sunk her claws in with an oh-so-casual arm touch, flirtatious jut of the hip, and offer of one of her trademark Tifa Titters. The drink, that was. For now.

Which left Yazoo. Aerith blinked at Yazoo. Yazoo blinked back. If anybody had been watching, the sheer dubious expectancy oozing from both would have been enough to make toes curl. But neither were deemed very important, and so they were left to entertain each other. Aerith's hand found Cloud's upper arm and gave a gentle tug, because Yazoo scared the Holy out of her with his incestuous junkie manner. Cloud, perhaps simply running on a different time zone than everyone else, eventually reacted after another few agonizingly long moments had passed.

"Yeah?"

Not quite the knight in shining armour she'd have liked, but his arm _did _loop around her waist protectively, even if his eyes weren't quite on her. That was enough. At least he was registering her existence, instead of doing his best to pretend she didn't exist, like people did when those adverts to sponsor an unfortunate but very sweet child or an unloved but adorable animal came on.

Yazoo, similarly, seemed to have leaned into Loz. His green eyes flicked to where Sephiroth stood, finally beginning to make his way through the throng of people. It was not a case of whether or not he knew that Hojo and Vincent were there – he _knew,_ Yazoo could _feel _that he knew, and it was simmering away beneath his calm – but rather the case that Yazoo wanted to be closer to the eldest brother. He'd always stood up for them, from that time where Hojo said they should attend a summer camp to the time Angeal said that they should have a drinking contest to determine who his favourite should be (he had, to be fair, been on a lot of recreational mako at the time).

"How are you feeling, Cloud?" She asked delicately, shifting in her monstrous boots, "Are you enjoying yourself?"

There was a stunned silence on Vincent's part which slid through the crowd in a tangible manner. It caused almost all to shudder, and when Vincent opened his mouth, the growl that came out was not his usual rasp. It was animalistic, terrible, and evil.

"_Cucumber_."

The effect was instantaneous. Hojo's jaw went slack and his fingers twitched. His eyes were round and popping, and he gave the tiniest shake of his head. Vincent leered. It was truly shocking. One would have expected Hojo to do the leering. Clearly, however, some kind of dominance had been established. It was rare to see Hojo at a loss for anything.

"You two!"

Reeve had stormed up and was glaring at both of them. "Misters Valentine and Hojo, you were invited here and expected to behave well! If you're going to disrupt the party for everyone else, then I suggest you leave right now!"

Vincent's predatory leer vanished, and his red eyes flickered over to the approaching Sephiroth, and then back to Reeve. He gave a typical Vincent smile, which flashed across his face and caused red fires to burn on Reeve's cheeks as if it had been a streaker.

"We're just leaving," he said, friendly, reaching out with his claw to grab Hojo's arm, "We need to discuss a few things. Will be _just_ upstairs if anyone needs us."

With that, Vincent turned on the heel of his stupid pointy boots and stalked out of the room, half-leading and half-skipping with the mad, ugly scientist behind him.

The sigh of relief that washed through the entire room was a gust of air. Chatter started back up. More eyes turned to Sephiroth once more.

Cloud had to force his own away from Sephiroth again, still operating on that different time zone, and look at his girlfriend. He smiled down at her and nodded. "Yeah," he glanced up, seeming to realise that Tifa had latched on to Loz and was pressing a bright red drink into his hand. A part of him screamed that he ought to help the part of Sephiroth, whilst another said that he ought not to get in the way of a girl who could rip his spleen out through his kneecaps. The last part of him said that Yazoo was practically draped off of Loz's arm, so he would stop anything bad from happening, right? Right? Right.

"Thanks for telling me to come," he said, warmly. Even though Cloud had agreed to go, Aerith had suggested it several times to him, as though expecting him to back out or to react in some explosive manner that may or may not have involved him making crass songs to be sung onto his blog. Still, even if he hadn't behaved exactly as Zack would have, he was still here, and Aerith liked to be thanked. It made her feel good. She glowed, even with three silver-haired men so close to her.

As a matter of fact, with the possible exception of Yazoo, the Remnants seemed to be adapting well to the group. They were no longer standing as if expecting to fight. Loz was grinning at Tifa and gesturing with the drink, apparently discussing some form of self-defence. Kadaj was fingering the mesh shirt that Barret had chosen to wear, and was complimenting him on getting one that wasn't "real fuckin' shit" and was, on the contrary, "the _real_ fuckin' shit". He seemed to be adapting to Barret's language, which was slightly disturbing.

All in all, everything seemed to be going rather perfectly. Reeve had vanished to mingle with others, and Cloud, feeling somewhat content, cupped Aerith's cheek and looked into her beautiful green eyes…

On the glassy surface, he saw the tiny reflection of Sephiroth getting closer, and he spun around, eyes wide and lips pressed together, swallowing the gasp of shock.

A quarter hour was struck, and everything, traditionally, went quiet. Cloud stared at the glorious visage of his idol, a mere arm's length away, and felt his heart hammer in his chest. A small voice, one he couldn't quite pinpoint, was babbling excitedly at how _close_ he was, couldn't he _smell_ him, oh _Gaia_ look at his _hair_, imagine running his fingers through _that_…

These totally-not-homosexual thoughts – and, to be fair, the entire moment – were completely ruined as Hojo's muffled voice floated down from the ceiling.

"_Vincent, I don't think 'Peaceful Chaos' is a very safe word for me -!"_

"'_Ice-lady', then."_

"…_Acceptable."_

"Yazoo."

The totally-not-homosexual thoughts swept up with a vengeance, and Cloud found himself staring at Sephiroth's lips move at his brother's ear, too quiet to hear – he was, however, quite sure, that he'd asked if he was alright. There was something flinty and hard in his jade eyes; something that said, quite clearly, that he was well aware of what was going on and was ignoring it completely and if it was brought to his attention shit would get flipped.

A sharp pain at Cloud's waist dragged him out of following the line of Sephiroth's neck down to the section of chest that he could see thanks to the General's half open shirt. Tifa was winking at him in that way of hers that was unashamedly blatant but robbed all of your dignity instead of hers. Her elbow was positioned for another jab at him, and her head jerked towards Sephiroth in a manner that anybody else would have at least _tried _to make subtle.

Tifa did not. But she did, thankfully, hiss rather than crow when she spoke. "Go and talk to him!" She commanded of him, one hand swinging round to collide, squarely, with his pert, post-hardcore ass. Aerith's grip, conversely, had tightened on his arm. Tifa did another spasm-like jerk of the head and perched her fists on her hips – genuinely threatening coming from her – before rounding on Loz again, who'd turned his attention back to her from his eldest brother.

Another fan reared their hopeful head, somewhere around the vicinity of Sephiroth's shoulder. Cloud could have spit at her. If he had venomous saliva, he most definitely would have. The assailant was smiling up at the silver-haired god. He did her the honour of smiling back. Cloud was glad Aerith was holding him, because he felt a bit weak at the knees. It was the usual exchange of flattery, waxing lyrical, and pleading for one simple signature, and she bubbled off to her group of friends, who fizzed jealously at her. Being the bravest of their number, and now touched by a god, Justine would doubtlessly become the leader of their little pack – Natalie hadn't been willing to go up to him, after all, so she would be swept out of the running.

Cloud ignored this slightly unsettling little piece of female pack psychology to watch Sephiroth as he turned back to his brother, casually flicking a lock of silver hair back over his shoulder.

"_Well_?" Tifa demanded as Loz moved off to retrieve drinks for his brothers, after a solemn promise to return to talk to her. Her hands were still on her hips, and that, even to Cloud's gay addled mind, meant danger.

"Well what?" He retorted, unfalteringly sullen. One of Tifa's hands moved to audibly meet the small of his back. He stumbled a little. There was a very quick exchange of looks and body language between Tifa and Aerith, something so intrinsically female that Cloud didn't even know it had happened. Tifa had won the argument, and thus got to nudge Cloud again.

"Go talk to him! Go on!"

There was a lot to be said for Cloud. He'd been through a lot in his life, so far. He was the runty kid in Nibelheim – hell, he'd _lived_ in Nibelheim, a place that Rufus was considering making it law to add "Saddest Place in the World" to anything it was advertised on – who had always been beaten up. He'd come to Midgar as a teen, where the bullying had continued. He'd met Zack, who'd gone and got himself shot up by Shin-ra a scant few years after their meeting, and he'd had bad experiences with recreational mako. All this shit and more had happened to him, and that wasn't even _counting_ cactuars.

It was why he was so post-fucking-hardcore.

Anyway, Cloud had been through a lot of stuff in his life. But nothing, nothing, had quite compared to standing within touching distance of the Great Sephiroth and not having a flapping Zack to catch him when he fainted. Not that he would faint now, of course. He was too damn mature now. Matured by all the pain and other hardcore stuff.

But Sephiroth looped a strand of Yazoo's hair behind Yazoo's shoulder and oh my _goooooodddd_ did anyone see how fluid that movement was…

A couple of muffled thuds floated down from upstairs. Tifa elbowed Cloud in the ribs and jerked her head towards Sephiroth again. Cloud swallowed. Aerith squeezed his arm briefly, and looked imploringly at Tifa. The looked lasted all through the conversation that Barret and Kadaj were having, which had moved from fashionable cuts and materials to how did Barret do that dance again? Something about 'cranking dat?'

The exchange was finished before Barret began leading Kadaj through the steps, and Aerith let go of Cloud's arm.

"Go on, Cloud," she said, and she sounded oddly sad. Her bright green eyes filled with a kind of unspeakable sorrow that would have had readers screaming 'Mary Sue!' had she been an original character. Her boyfriend looked back at her, once, and then at Tifa, who was leaning over in a way that must have killed her back and several horny young folks had her cleavage been in the reader's viewline. As it is, one gets to stare at Cloud's confused little face. If that's boring, one could always turn over and see the upstairs scenario with Vincent and Hojo… no? Then don't fucking complain.

Swallowing, Cloud took a few hesitant steps forward. A hero for all time.

Sephiroth's head tilted first, his eyes sliding into a sidelong guard as he watched Cloud approach. That was enough to make his legs feel leaden, but he persevered. This wasn't like all those years ago, when he'd been nothing but a grunt and Sephiroth had been_the _general, whiling away an hour by watching the cadets train. This wasn't like the one time Zack had persuaded him to meet him after a concert, and he'd gotten his ticket autographed. This was different because he was older now and he _had _to be mature. It was paramount to everything. It was more important than anything else, ever. He could _not _make a fool of himself by squeaking and flailing like a baby chocobo, because Sephiroth would _laugh _at him.

The very idea made him want to abort face, pivot on his heel, march back, and just keep marching till he'd eroded a hole through the wall and escaped. He glanced over his shoulder. Tifa was watching him beadily.

When he turned back, he realised he was already standing right in front of Sephiroth. Sephiroth, who was looking at him. Right at him. Him, Cloud, in case you couldn't remember, because Cloud barely did himself.

He opened his mouth to speak. Nothing really happened. Because Sephiroth's lips were already moving, moving _around _his smile.

"Cloud, isn't it?"

He knew his name. He knew Cloud's name. _He_ knew it. Sephiroth knew Cloud's name. He knew his name and he knew his face. He knew him. The Great General knew who Cloud was. Sephiroth, of LOVELESS, Sephiroth, and Sephiroth and the Remnants, knew who Cloud was. No one else in the world could have known who Cloud was and he wouldn't have cared.

He swallowed, aware that he had been staring for what felt like a long time. It had actually only been slightly long enough to make Yazoo feel a little uncomfortable, but still. Cloud's mouth felt dry. He tried to work up some moisture to speak. Eventually, he managed.

"You know my name?" He blurted. It wasn't suave and it wasn't impressive, but at least it wasn't a high-pitched squeak that would have had dogs howling and bats flapping madly. In short, Cloud was acting slightly better than some of the fans who had accosted Sephiroth that night. Knowing Cloud, this was surprising.

Sephiroth's smile became a little wider, and he inclined his head in a nod. "Judging by your answer, I'd assume so." His eyes were on Cloud's again, boring into them effortlessly, enough that the newly familiar little voice crept up inside his brain with a chirpy _hi Cloud!_, the vocal approximation of an '8D' face. He ignored it, well, to be truthful had barely even heard it, because every sense was trained so sharply to Sephiroth that he could _feel _the vibrations in the air when he breathed.

"It's been a while," he continued, that sleek smile coming to be directed at Cloud once more. "How have you been?"

A while? The last time he'd even seen Sephiroth had been when he was seventeen, and he'd barely said two sentences to him. How could the man remember him from that? It was unlikely that he knew him from his music – Cloud wasn't considered good enough to be in the top circles in the WRO. Hell, Cloud wouldn't have considered himself good enough even if he was. Coupled with the fact that this was _Sephiroth_ right here…

"All right," Cloud answered, and behind him, he thought he could see the way Tifa groaned and shook her head. Old habits died hard, and Cloud's brain had shut down too much to come up with anything better than a default.

His eyes met Sephiroth's, and he felt them pulling him in. He half-wanted to tell the man everything – the fact that the years had been meaningless without him simply _existing_ in Cloud's world; the difficulties Cloud had to face in his work; the fact that he still knew he could have helped Zack and hadn't… somehow he wanted to tell them all to Sephiroth. He didn't, though. He'd seen what happened to that guy who was really obsessed with Marshall – Stanley or something. It had been terrifying.

But the compulsion was still there. So was the compulsion to get on his knees and worship this man – _Ooooh, hi Cloud!_ – and that was rather harder to ignore. It felt almost wrong that no one was doing so.

"You don't…" he began, closing his eyes to steal himself for it, "You don't know how amazing it is to know you're back."

Sephiroth had the good graces, or – more honestly - the knowledge that it made people love him all the more, to look faintly embarrassed by the flattery. Only faintly, though, because Sephiroth had a weakness for flattery, especially when it came from people he considered worthy of his leering – because Sephiroth had leered since he was a child, eyeing the chocolate bar Hojo had placed out of reach.

"It's good to be back," he said, for what was perhaps the hundredth time he'd said it today, "And it's wonderful to hear that from such a loyal fan."

_Oh yes. Drop it in that you remember exactly who he is. He's ours._

_Quiet, you._

_Fuck quiet! _The voice growled. Where Cloud's equivalent sounded worryingly like a Southern Belle, Sephiroth's was a film noir detective. _Five years, with nothing but a bit of DIY! I'm done with quiet!_

_Patience, _Sephiroth told himself firmly. The voice ebbed off, for now, and he smiled again.

"I've heard your music," he went on, ignoring the way that the voice resurged with a cry of _phase two! _"You arrange everything yourself, correct? It shows a lot of talent. You're very good."

Cloud's breath caught in his throat. Yazoo, who had been eyeing him with a lazy, only slightly wary gaze, thought for a moment that the blond's heart had exploded. No one could really blame him. The look of sheer joy that crossed Cloud's face made it seem that he'd died and gone to heaven, where it was okay to not be post-fucking-hardcore all the damn time.

_Oh, Cloud!_ Came that disturbingly Southern Belle voice. It worried Cloud that it seemed to have transfigured itself from his own into it, but he wasn't paying enough attention to truly frighten himself. _He's interested! Ohh!_

He didn't bother telling it to shut up. He tried to wipe away the beam that was plastered across his face, from ear to ear. It wasn't hardcore. But he failed, miserably, though got some credit for keeping the blush from his cheeks. Only some though, because it was beginning to creep slowly on. Well, at least his dick wasn't hard, all right?

_Mmm, but for how long, Cloud?_

_Shut up._

_Cloud, sir, you are NO gentleman!_

Deciding it was for the best that he didn't think on it, Cloud swallowed and took a breath before speaking. Had he less control over himself than he had, he knew he'd be toeing the ground and dropping his gaze.

"Yeah. Thank you," he said, managing not to stutter all over the place – see? Maturity. "You have no idea… really. That means so much to me." He reached up to push a few spikes from his eyes, still unable to get that goofy grin off his face. At least he wasn't humping Sephiroth's leg, something that Tifa had worried about.

"I'd tell you you were good but…" he shrugged, and then instantly worried that this was the wrong thing to say.

Sephiroth waved his concern away with one of those impeccably casual little gestures, but there was something _almost _impressed about his expression. They'd met a mere handful of times when both were still in SOLDIER, and every time Cloud had been capable of nothing but a selection of squeaks, ranging in pitch from high to excruciating to only audible if you have sonar, which, thankfully, was one of the few abilities Sephiroth did not possess.

He tilted his head, the very picture of informal interest. It was not a difficult thing to achieve, it was no real secret that Sephiroth _loved _a bit of genuine complimenting (which was lucky, given as most people had little else to offer), but usually he wouldn't make it quite so obvious that he was enjoying it.

"Did you enjoy your Geostigma, Cloud?"

"It was the best thing I've ever experienced," Cloud said, his lips stretching once more into a goofy grin and somehow he couldn't bring himself to care. "You've gotten better if anything. I've never been so – drawn to something before."

_Exceeeept…? _Drawled the Southern Belle. Cloud chose to ignore her. Him. It. The way his eyes were shining would tell Sephiroth as it was.

"I thought I'd never get it," He confided, "And that made me panic, slightly." His stoicism was being torn down around him and, much like the silly grin, he couldn't find himself caring. "But I have it. And I liked the secret part you slipped in on the last track."

A faintly surprised look – just a quirk of the eyebrow and the mouth, really – fleeted across Sephiroth's face – the genuineness of it was debateable, but Cloud didn't care. He wondered frantically for a moment, would Sephiroth laugh at him for being a fool? It was the army all over again, he knew, and he didn't think he could _handle _it, maybe he should just _flee _now, right up those steps and away and home to his nice warm bed and he could burrow under the blankets like him and Zack used to when the world had become a little too much to bear for a little while.

"Oh?" Was the first word to come. Cloud's goofy smile had twisted itself into a rather bizarrely hilarious grimace. Sephiroth did not throw his head back and guffaw (making a guffaw sexy somehow but a guffaw it would be nonetheless) at him (and he should have known that the general wouldn't guffaw, he only let slip really hot – in an un-gay way, mind – chuckles). All he did was smile again. Cloud's gut sort of managed to untangle itself whilst feeling like it was now all the more twisted. "You found that? I'm impressed."

And he was, on the whole. Cloud tried to stop himself from believing it, but Sephiroth's word _was _law, so if he said it _must _be true.

"Impressed?" He repeated, because as everyone who cared for Cloud knew, he liked repeating what people had said to him. It was an endless source of frustration to Tifa, and had been something that his mother had always tried to coax him away from. It had never worked. It was too easy an escape for a post-fucking-hardcore lad like him.

His heart stopped vibrating in his chest, and returned to merely pounding it with everything it had. His smile came back and practically yelled "A-hyuk!" with how silly it was, but was nonetheless charming and adorable. Think Goofy in a Turk uniform stroking a pygmy chocobo. Actually, that's a terrifying image. Try to forget it. I know I can't.

"Well, I don't think I'm the only fan to find it…" Granted, leaving it on for an hour or so wasn't something many fans would sit and do, no matter how much they adored the music. Perhaps not _many_ had found it. And since Sephiroth seemed to think it was something impressive, then it simply had to be. Sephiroth's word was the truth. Every word from the mouth of a god and all that. Cloud could already feel his eyes half-closing in some kind of reverence. He stopped it before it became too creepy and stalkerish.

"How did you get it all done so quickly?" He asked, "It's taking me longer to even get one video done."

And what a video it was. It had the three crucial elements of any post-hardcore video: the artist in a tiny room, screaming his heart out; the artist moping, this time in the same tiny room; and the story to be told which in Cloud's case also starred himself. Shovel in a big old helping of thrashing about wildly in torrential rain and you have yourself a bona fide Cloud Strife production. It was one Sephiroth – who, if you haven't guessed by now, was more than happy at the prospect of getting into Cloud's invariably just-slightly-too-loose pants – was quite eagerly anticipating.

He kept himself from smiling a bit too leerily, but there was _definitely _a thorough checking out going on. Tifa, even as she arranged that her and Loz should go jogging together, could practically _smell _the checking out that was going on, and it smelled _damn good._

"It was all written before I returned," the general replied, shaking his head as though it wasn't really much hassle at all. Quite annoyingly, that was almost true - Sephiroth had found that life was something he usually needed to bother applying very little effort to at all. "Then it was just a case of working hard with my brothers. We didn't want to do too much production, wanted to keep it slightly… Raw…"

Ah, the pretentious artist spiels. A favourite of every rock star ever, except possibly Angeal Hewley, because he was all about frugality and honour and pride and dreams and damn that's good recreational mako.

"And we didn't require much of a build up for publicity. A few all-nighters and it was ready to go."

Tifa was now making herself part of four conversations at once; that was, flirting intently with Loz and listening raptly to Sephiroth and also making Aerith feel like she hadn't been ditched by everyone all the whilst whooping Barret and Kadaj on as they crowed out lyrical masterpieces such as 'WATCH ME SUPERSOAK DAT 'HO'. Multi-tasking in such situations is an ability that all girls are expected to have, and Tifa was the master. Right now, the majority of her attention was spread between Loz and the exchange between Sephiroth and her best friend, because Loz really was damn fine and maybe she was imagining it but everything Sephiroth said somehow seemed like a come on.

A very small part of Cloud was sitting in a not-so-small part of his brain and going _Raw. All-nighter. Build-up. Sephiroth. Hee._ But of course this was all ever-so-straight and just platonic and god-DAMMIT no that wasn't lipgloss on the CD cover so shut up!

The rest of him was fizzing with delight and joy. Aerith was behind him, talking to Tifa and eyeing him with deep sorrow and great worry, and he could no more pay her any attention than he could really quite block out the thuds and bumps coming from the upstairs room. Even they weren't important, however, as Sephiroth stood before him and complimented him.

"Well, I'm glad," Cloud said, his smile suddenly dazzling and not goofy at all (you're still thinking about that Turk suit, aren't you?). He reached out and held his hand out, waiting for Sephiroth to take it. Hoping that he would. "You've given me even more inspiration than ever. If. Hn. If that's okay to say."

Way to falter towards the end, Cloud. Way to falter.

The smile on his lips practically dripping with indulgence, Sephiroth took Cloud's hand and shook it. "It's always an honour and a pleasure to hear I've inspired someone to do something." And it was, too. It catapulted him closer to godliness. If he was inspiring people, they were doing things because of him. And that gave him control. And that meant he could make them do what he liked. And that, apparently, made him just about the best thing ever to walk the planet, on a par only with Mother.

"I'm glad I got to meet you," he went on, and Cloud was _sure _his legs were quivering. "It would be… Good… if we could meet again soon, when you're not busy. I'd like to get the chance to talk to you more."

Cloud looked ready to pass out.

_See? It's just a matter of time. _


	5. Divinity I

Midgar, being the hotspot for everything in the entire world (except perhaps nature), held the largest stadiums in the world

**Title**: Sephiroth and the Remnants

**Authors**: shadowededen and mydarkrosaline.

**Fandom**: Compilation of FFVII

**Characters**: One brave little Cloudy-wolf, a flame haired piece of shit, a foul-mouthed wildlife harasser/pilot, a vodka-swilling Vincent, a sweetly manipulative tabby cat, a startlingly homosexual Kadaj who does not want to go to school, a very godly Sephiroth, a Tifa out for buttsex, a cameo of Tseng in a car.

**Warning**: Language, innuendo, butchery of characters, some violence and mind-fuckery, some jokes in dubious taste.

**Word Count**: 12000

**Disclaimer**: See Chapter 01

**Author's Notes**: We smell and stink on the updating process. This chapter broke our balls. Incidentally! The song 'You Have' is actually a Rammstein song with slightly edited lyrics, so don't credit us for that. And the Jenova Project song that gets, what, a line, is meant to be 'Aquarius' by Within Temptation. There's also a brief rip of Space Odyssey by Bowie in there somewhere. Oh yes, and the Remnants song that Cid flicks by is 'Shut Me Up' by MSI. Give credit as credit is due!

--

--

Midgar, being the hotspot for everything in the entire world (except perhaps nature), held the largest stadiums in the world. The largest could probably swallow up a small town or two and leave a bit of room for a theme park. They'd been around in the old President's time, and had been one of the reasons that Reeve had left Shin-Ra in the first place. He understood why one would want such massive stadiums if things like LOVELESS (The poem, play and the band, especially the band) were popular, but they hadn't been top priority. The people living in houses built from scrap metal and duct tape were, Reeve had attested. President Shinra hadn't been paying him any mind, however, and gone ahead with the plan.

Random exposition aside, it ought to be noted that our hero, Cloud, from his vantage point of a backstage arena pass, saw the genius in keeping these stadiums up and running. This was the biggest one, and it was packed. The show didn't start for another hour or so yet, and it had been packed for the previous four. Some people had been camping in it. Everyone was crammed in together, breathing and somehow managing to be completely unaware that they were surrounded by a good few thousand other people who all had armpits. Cloud even noticed a few fans nearer the front who were staring, zombie-like, at the stage, waiting for the band to arrive.

He was giddy with excitement. Well, that was rather like saying that the sun was hot. Cloud was thrumming with excitement that started in the very core of his being and radiated out to be felt by anyone in, perhaps, the Northern Continent. He felt like he was waiting for the coming of god (and many would argue that he was – he'd probably do it himself) and that these were the last few moments before He showed His glorious Presence. It was painful, wonderful, and so damn _exciting _that Cloud was in danger of exploding into really small, really hardcore bits.

His body had been very reluctant to ingest much food, and he didn't want to keep running to the bathroom, and so was being very careful with what he drank. It didn't matter to him that no one would take his place – he had a wonderful vantage point and a VIP pass. He could even run down and see the band right now, he was aware. But he wasn't going to let himself do that. He didn't want to get in their _zone _and maybe ruin the mood that the younger three were clinging to. Sephiroth wouldn't have anything ruined, of course.

As a result, Cloud was filled with that fizzing sort of energy that one got around the back of four A.M. and knew they'd pay for around one P.M. on the morrow. To anyone sitting around him, they'd notice the fevered look in his face. To anyone really looking close, they might even have seen that the blue glow in his eyes was looking a little greener than was usual.

No one was looking really close, of course. However, there _was_ someone looking at Cloud – someone who Cloud had not seen, because his eyes had been fixed on the stage and the crowds beneath him. The mysterious watcher (no capitals this time, he wasn't _that_ Mysterious) grinned, a small curving of a mouth designed to smirk and leer, and took a few steps towards Cloud.

"Yo, partner," came the drawl, "Long time no see, eh?"

Cloud tore his eyes away from the seething mass below, and did a double take.

Leaning casually against the balcony, dressed in the same uniform as most of the roadies, was a man only a few years older than Cloud, with flame-red hair that was messily tied back from his face. A pair of goggles were pushed into said hair (there must have been something about the Turks, Cloud thought, that meant they had no fashion sense outside of the suits – this, and Vincent's getup, was a prime example), leaving Cloud free to see the bright blue eyes and red tattoos.

"_Reno_?"

"Oh so I'm remembered, huh?" grinned Reno, quirking an eyebrow, "Still a long time no see, eh, Spike?"

"Yeah," Cloud said, momentarily shaken from thoughts of the band. Of course, talk of shit and whacks you in the face, and he remembered again, "You here to see them?"

"Here to see them? Heh." Reno shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at the crowds, "Nah. Reno the Roadie's got work to do at this concert."

There was a pause. Of course there was a pause. Reno the _Roadie_? Cloud frowned. Things got jumbled up sometimes, it was true, but his memories of Zack dragging Cloud into a band with a helmeted youth behind the drums and a flame haired piece of shit behind the bass were not one of those things. He and Reno had preformed together. Reno had been awesome. Kunsel had attested, once when very drunk, that Reno was as awesome in all aspects of life as he was in bed, and shit, Spiky Strife, that was saying _sumthin_', let me tell you. People had loved him. People had loved him even after he'd left the band to do work for Shin-Ra, work that may or may not have been entirely savoury.

Reno seemed to notice Cloud's train of thought, and he waved his hand in front of his face, "Nah, see, I quit Shin-Ra. Kunsel was right – I couldn't work with them after the shit they pulled with Zack. 'Course, you quit Shin-Ra, then, well, you quit life. Or at least an easy one." He rolled his shoulders in another shrug, "I don't mind, yo. Reeve didn't think I was good enough on my own, but I thought, shit, why turn down a chance at the WRO? So here I am. Roadie. Sephy and the Remnants. It all slots up, yo."

Something caught in Cloud's throat at the mention of Zack, and it was hard to push it away even after Reno had finished talking. The brave little Cloudy-Wolf tuckered on, however, and nodded his head in a "Right." He had been about to follow that up with a "So what are you doing with yourself?" but realised that that would have been stupid, since Reno had just dumped his life story on him.

The flame-haired piece of shit just grinned again and shook his head, "Ain't never been one to do much talking, yo. Doesn't matter. Anyway, Reno the Roadie's gotta skee-daddle – see if any of them princesses need me." He screwed up his face, "That Yazoo. He's the fuckin' worst. Allergic to everything if you believe him. Screamed at me to toss the bowl of nuts out of his dressing room and clean the goddamn place out. Felt like telling him he could toss my nuts instead." The grin widened when Cloud laughed, and Reno seemed appeased. "Yeah, well, see ya Strife. Call me sometime or somethin', yo."

With a toss of fiery, fiery red hair that everyone seems to fixate on even though he'd not the only damn redhead around (yo Cissnei, or, more importantly, Red XIII), Reno turned to the stairs that would take him back down to the crowds beneath and follow the fucking dangerous path to the backstage area. Yipes. Talk about having to deal with random battles. Cloud hoped he was all right for a whole half-minute, and then turned his attention back to the stage.

The crowds seethed beneath him. Cloud looked down from the balcony and was once again blown away by the sheer size of it. It wasn't so much a sea of heads as a drowned planet full of them. If this was what it was like in Midgar, Cloud wondered how many people would even be able to fit in the other places. He was sure that more than half of this massive crowd would be going to see the other shows, after all.

And more than half of them had adorned themselves with the distinctive make-up used in the album art for Geostigma, in which figures had been made to look as though their bodies were decaying under the influence of a disease that mottled their skin with black. Some had even added the droplets using latex. Cloud himself had risked the heat by wearing a sleeveless roll neck (admittedly a zip through, thus allowing him to leave a space at the neck) so that he might show off his own – rather expertly done, he had to admit, although that had been helped along by the bruising left by Tifa's frequent onslaughts. Masterful as she was with martial arts, she didn't have much knowledge of her own strength, and always responded to her victim's complaints with an airy 'pshaw'.

But that wasn't the point. Not that he didn't love Tifa, he just believed (correctly, to be fair) that there were better things to think about, and the fact that he was getting to see _Sephiroth and the Mother-Fucking Remnants _from the best place in the whole damn venue was considered to be one of them. In fact, it was the best thing to think about.

There was no support band. They were well aware that they didn't need one, were well aware of the fact that their support could have been the planet's second greatest band and they still would have been forced from the stage from the screaming of thousands of impatient fans. There was nothing to do but wait, and the stadium was oddly quiet, quieter than it should have been perhaps, but it was that fevered, electric quiet, like the hum of fluorescent strip lights to that annoying someone (Genesis, Yazoo) who claimed to be ultra-sensitive to such things.

After a wait of half an hour (or less, or more, Cloud didn't know, because he was too busy staring at the empty stage to check) the place descended into complete blackness, an impenetrable sheet of shadow, as though Darkness had been cast over them. No one thought to consider the fact that Sephiroth had a wide range of materia, all of them mastered, of course, because, like Cloud, they were busy staring at the empty stage.

And then shafts of pale jade light shimmered forth, illuminating the stage, shot with a bright, emerald green.

At first, it seemed that there was nothing for them to show. But then it became apparent that three figures had been revealed by it, statuesque and still. For a moment, it was entirely easy to believe that they were simply models of the band members, and then the music started, and they began to move with it, Kadaj's hands gliding up the guitar neck with the introduction to For the Reunion.

It was longer than it had to be, longer than it was on the album, Cloud noted, waiting, waiting with a pained feeling of pure longing for the god – _his _god – to show himself.

When he did, it was even better than he could have dreamt of, better than he'd prayed for. His voice was glorious, divine, and then a single bolt of light shone down upon the form of Sephiroth, resplendent as ever in his black leather.

Cloud felt his breath hitch in the back of his throat. It did not shift from their throughout that song, or the next, or any of the others. In fact, Cloud did not regain the ability to breathe until the end of the concert.

It was sheer force of will that kept him alive.

His god's.

--

--

Cid Highwind was a highly successful, happily married man, and there weren't very many men on Gaia who you could give that label to.

Despite his dreams of going into outer space being crushed by Shin-ra and the woman he ended up marrying (The JENOVA Project did a song about it – "Shin-ra Control to Captain Highwind", it went), he had never sunk below anything more than a dogged determination to get on with life and enjoy it, preferably while making it miserable for others. Only on a superficial level, of course, because he was also a big ol' softie who liked seeing people smile. That was why he had opened up Highwind Airways, now run by his wife Shera, and it was also why he decided to leave Highwind Airways for Shera to run and go trotting all around the globe, getting up close and personal with Gaia's most dangerous wildlife. 'Dragon Hunter' was one of the most popular TV shows out there, despite (or perhaps, because of) the insane amount of damage that happened to wildlife on the show.

He was idly watching himself, dressed in his traditional khaki coloured clothes, creeping over a rocky landscape and gesturing for the camera to follow him. He watched as he pointed over a certain ridge to find a sleeping male gryphon, its peacock feathers bunched and iridescent in the fading light.

"Crikey," said Cid-on-the-TV, "Ain't he a beauty? Look at the size. Check them feathers! He's a right good specimen, he is!" The camera did a nice, long shot of the gryphon as Cid rattled on in the background, "Now, see, it's not quite mating season yet, so this fella's probably resting himself up before he has to go strutting to impress the females. Check out them tail feathers!" The camera obligingly zoomed in on the folded tail-feathers, "When he's looking for a girl, he'll spread those, and bow to her, trying to impress her with his good looks and charm, eh? Cor, what a great find!"

There was a beat, and the camera turned back to Cid-on-the-TV, who was smiling gently, enraptured by the wonders of nature presented to him. "Now," he said after a moment's quiet contemplation, "Let's see how he deals with a little dynamite, will we?"

Cid-sitting-on-the-couch flipped the channel, bored with his own show by this point. He glanced across at his friend, whom the couch, TV and indeed, flat belonged to, but they raised no complaint.

That was the good thing about Vincent, mused Cid, flipping past a showing of Cribs, in which Barret led the populace around his humble abode. He never really complained when you crashed his place and took over the TV. Hell, all he did was toss you a beer and knock some shots back with you. Sometimes he'd even share his cigarettes. He was like every man's dream woman. Only, y'know… penisier.

Flick. Flick. House was watched for all of five minutes before Cid got bored, at which the TV was changed to a music channel, where a young boy with silver curls spat into a microphone that he couldn't wait for Cid to shut him up (in a minute minute, in a fucking minute). Cid obliged Kadaj by flipping the channel again.

"Here," he said, taking a swig from the can of Nibelheim's finest and glancing sideways at Vincent, "Why ain't you with them kids right now? Ain't you paid to make sure they don't get up to shit?"

Vincent shrugged and scratched behind the ears of a small tabby cat that lay curled on his lap. He did it with his good hand, the claw curled around a small shot glass filled with a clear liquid from the Northern Continent. Several others littered the table before him, along with other things. Indeed, it was quite obvious to Cid that Vincent was living it large as a desirable bachelor. His apartment had an aroma of somewhat of old alcohol mixed with the type of smell of a person who didn't wash his socks until they stood up on their own, with a faint, yet persistent, stench of cigarette and other drug smoke underneath.

It made Cid rather glad he had Shera to yell at him for getting like that. Gaia, but he loved that bitch so fuckin' much.

"Sephiroth dismissed me earlier today," growled Vincent, knocking back the shot and placing the glass back on the table without disturbing the cat, "Went back, reported to Reeve. Nothing much to say. Sephiroth's sending Kadaj back to school, Yazoo and Loz were playing Wii Sports all afternoon, and Sephiroth himself was leering at Cloud Strife whenever he came on the music channels."

Cid rolled his eyes and took another sip from the can, leaving the TV on a news station. "Tch," he said, "Always knew that Cloud was a rump-raging-faery boy. A gentleman of the backdoor, one might say. Fuckin' backgammon player. Someone who'd wanna fly his flesh rocket to –"

"I'm not breaking up with Hojo."

"F'r fuck's sake, man!" Cid snapped, causing the little cat to start, look around with curious green eyes, and then curl back up on Vincent's lap for another sleep. "That guy ain't shitting well good for you. He cut off your fuckin' arm!"

"I got lots of pity sex."

"That doesn't make it –"

"From Jenova."

Cid closed his mouth and thinned his lips. A man knew when he was beat. It was pretty sad to see Reeve mooning after Vincent like a lovesick puppy, and Vincent being oblivious like… a guy who slept in a coffin for a few decades and woke up to find that Angeal Hewley had curled his hair and applied some delicate cosmetics to his face. That, and Hojo just fucking creeped Cid out. Nefarious bastard that he was. And it wasn't like Vincent really loved or cared about said nefarious bastard anyway. Might have done when he was screwing him along with Jenova and Lucrecia, but not anymore. They were just in it for old time's sake.

"Look," he said, carefully, "It's not like if you break up with him he's gonna… I don't know. Fuckin'… swap your sphincter for an onion ring or somethin'. You can just shoot him in the head."

Vincent had ducked his head down and was pouring himself another shot of the Northern Continent stuff, shaking with silent laughter that Cid decided he was too good a friend to let the stoic bastard know he'd seen. The cat – imaginatively called 'Tabby' – uncurled herself from Vincent's leather clad legs and trotted over to Cid, where she looked up at him with eyes that said: _I am a cat. You love me. Aren't I cute? Yes. You want to pet me. Please pet me. I'll make you feel loved_. He glared down at her for a short while, but then simply shrugged and began to pet her. One thing he'd learned in all his years of getting up close and personal with Gaia's most dangerous was that you could never best a cat.

"Well, fuck me for caring, then." He announced, taking another swig of his beer, which was slowly running out. "Y'all can fuck that greasy, nefarious bastard all you like. Just don't tell me about it. Cissy."

"Indeed," Vincent said, red eyes narrowed as he watched Cid pet his cat, "Because I had every intention to. You, Reeve and Nanaki."

"Nanaki…?"

"Red."

"Oh yeah." Cid rallied, "Well, fuckin' don't."

_You must pet the cat,_ came the purring as she bumped her head against his hand. He obliged.

"How's Shera?" Vincent asked, reaching over and stroking Tabby's back. Cid shrugged.

"Doin' alright," he said, "Gets the weirdest fucking cravings though. Like you wouldn't believe. Wanted toast with chocolate and mango spread for dinner. I swear to the fuckin' Lifestream, man, that kid is gonna be fat and she's only gonna have herself to blame."

"Mm," Vincent nodded, "Sephiroth's mother had very strange cravings when she was pregnant with him. Kept wanting to eat dry pasta with nutella on it."

The space explorer-turned pilot-turned wildlife harasser chose not to dwell on the subject of Sephiroth's birth, instead choosing to say, "Women. Fuckin' glad I can't get pregnant." He didn't want to open a huge can of worms regarding Sephiroth's parentage. Vincent could never seem to make up his mind who the biological parents even were.

"Our recap for the News at Ten," came the voice of the reporter into the apartment. Cid paid him mind for the first time, "Thousands dead at the Midgar showing of the first ever Sephiroth and the Remnants concert. Thought to be largely caused by severe crushing, though experts have said that several of the bodies seem to show signs of knife or even gunshot wounds. Many are still in hospital, suffering severe trauma. But everyone agrees that it was a blinding show!"

_Huh,_ thought Cid, _talk of shit and it whacks you in the face._ He finished his drink, and then blinked. _Wait, thousands?_

"What the shit?" He said, gesturing to the TV screen. Vincent stopped petting the cat, his red eyes smouldering intently.

Were they a little bloodshot?

"It's been happening since the release of Geostigma," he growled, softly, "Why do you think Reeve wants them tailed?"

--

--

Sephiroth's bedroom was a sight that not many people could claim to have seen. There were a few one could name of the top of one's head – Angeal Hewley (drummer of LOVELESS), Genesis Rhapsodos (guitarist and primadonna of LOVELESS), Zack Fair (Lead signer of 'The Unprompted Rigidities' – his band SOLDIER's unofficial name), Gwendolyn Stefan (A rather popular RnB artist), Liz Sylar (formerly the most beautiful actress in the world) and his family (who were rumoured to be rather close). Four out of the six mentioned were dead (two by Sephiroth's own doing, but you can shut up about that because he's godly), of course, and only one of them had been in said room since Sephiroth's return.

Kadaj, Loz and Yazoo could have described Sephiroth's bedroom easily. There was a large bed right in the centre of it. There was no headrest, but the head of it was touching one of the stark white walls, the Masamune held in place just above it. The room was almost completely white, and there seemed to be no other furniture. The bed was right in the centre, as said, and there was an even space of exactly eight feet and five inches to the walls on each side of it. Indeed, the brothers could have easily described it in about a paragraph. And a relatively short one.

Sephiroth was currently in his room, and accompanying him was Kadaj. Despite the rumours, Kadaj wasn't lying on the bed with his knees bent towards his shoulders. He was sitting cross-legged on the covers, digging into a bag of lime-flavoured crisps and watching his brother with intent green eyes. Sephiroth was reaching out for one of the panelled walls and pulling it aside, revealing a sneakily hidden wardrobe which he'd taken to having ever since Angeal and Genesis got high and decided to go on a panty raid.

"So," Kadaj said, his voice laden with friendship and ghastly respect and generally something someone does when they're hoping to appeal for something, "This totally not-date with Cloud. What're you wearing?"

"I haven't thought about it," his brother replied after eyeing him for a moment, bordering on suspicious. Even if you were perhaps the only person on Gaia who could _really_ cow Kadaj, it was never wise to let your guard down around him. It hadn't been _personal _experience that had taught Sephiroth this, but he'd had to pull Kadaj away from ripping out several throats in his time, and so had learned to keep some form of guard up. Even if Kadaj really was no match for him, and would never be.

His brother seemed shocked, no, appalled by this lack of consideration. He was flexing, straightening up like a snake ready to strike. The distress was evident on his face – the entire image was one which should have been both frightening and saddening: Sephiroth was faintly amused by it, especially when Kadaj only became more distraught at the way his lips curved.

"Haven't _thought_? What do you mean, you _haven't thought_?"

"I mean, young one, that I have failed to consider an outfit." The smile quirked his lips again as Kadaj dug through his bag for more of his favoured lime crisps, as though they would aid his injured soul. Sephiroth's eyebrow raised fractionally. "Don't eat too much. You'll spoil your dinner."

There was silence for a moment, as there always was when Sephiroth did something _parental_. Kadaj secretly liked it, but was not going to admit that. Ever. In a million _years_. For a moment, they simply watched each other.

"I hate Yazoo's cooking," Kadaj tested sullenly.

"I cooked in advance," Sephiroth retorted, the two of them affectedly cool.

"Fine then." The bag was set aside, and Kadaj shuffled forth to sit at the end of the bed. "So, what're you going to wear, brother?"

"Does it matter?"

He tilted his head away to avoid chuckling as that vein in Kadaj's temple gave a particularly vicious twitch.

"Does it matter?" Kadaj snapped, "Of course it matters! Have you never _been_ on a not-date before?" Sephiroth's eyebrow raised, but Kadaj ploughed on before the elder could shoot the exact same question at him. "You've got to dress down, but do it really sexily. So it looks like Tifa doing her 'hi, feel free to ogle respectfully' pose, only, y'know, toned down." He blew a puff of hair upwards, flicking his fringe out of his eyes for a moment before it flopped back into place. Given as it was nearing the end of the night, the curls were slowly creeping back in.

"So, go for something good, big brother," he continued, "something that Mother would've liked."

From any other family, this would have been a weird thing to say. Of course, this was the… Hojo? Crescent? Valentine? Calamity? All four? No last name family? Sephiroth's family? Let's go with that one.

From the top, now:

For any other family, this would have been a weird thing to say. Of course, this was Sephiroth's family, so that didn't matter. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, because he was godly. If god's mother wanted to approve of what he was wearing, you didn't make fun of it. In fact, you were grateful that god's mother approved very much of tight black leather and open shirts.

Sephiroth just smiled in reply to Kadaj, "Mother would like everything I choose."

The teen twitched, but he shrugged, "Well, you do have good taste. So choose something. It'll be swell."

That ghastly friendship and sycophantic love was dripping from Kadaj's tone again. It was rather disgusting, all things considered. He had to learn to be better at persuasion.

And of course, Sephiroth did not fall for it. Even more so than he'd usually fail to, because he was blinking at his youngest sibling with something _like _bemusement. "For a start, no, I have never been on a _not date_. I wasn't even aware somebody had been pathetic enough to name these things. For the next thing, are you roundabout comparing me to Tifa Lockhart?"

He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. A distinct suspicion had settled in the back of his mind - that Kadaj's neuroticisms were going to inevitably rub off on him. Truly an undesirable situation.

"You do it," he said after a pause, gesturing vaguely at the wardrobe as he leaned back on the end of the bed, his younger brother vaulting up from where he sat to rake eagerly through Sephiroth's clothing – all monochrome, aside from a few articles in shades of grey or a dark green.

"Oh _wow_," Kadaj spasmed, rubbing his cheek reverently against a silk shirt, "This is like, _vintage_." He stopped abruptly, held the garment at arm's length with his fingertips, lest his evil bodily oils harm it. Sliding it back onto the hanger, he tucked it back into the closet, and now skimmed through the items within much more carefully, now made aware of the treasure contained within.

"Well?" Sephiroth drawled in his oh so elegant manner, flicking his sheet of silver hair back over a shoulder.

"I'm _thinking_," Kadaj hissed at him. At least he didn't have to worry about trousers. All Sephiroth owned were leather.

He skimmed his fingers over a particularly fine pair absently before moving back to the shirts. With his head of slowly curling-hair on one side, he began riffling through them quickly and elegantly, looking somewhat less like a rabid cat than usual.

"Nyuh, nyuh," he chuckled to himself, after a moment's silence, "As if the mass murdering going on at our concerts wasn't enough, you've got to do something that'll create female suicides all over the world. Mother will love this."

Sephiroth raised a perfectly metrosexual eyebrow at that, which Kadaj could quite clearly feel. He stepped back from the hidden wardrobe and tapped his lips with his fingers.

"Well," he said, after a pause, "What's the best way to ensnare Cloud?" He glanced sideways at his brother, which was again pretty impressive seeing that Sephiroth was behind him. "What does he like best on you, and deny that. Heh… nyuh. Would drive him completely crazy, right?"

The god propped his chin upon the upturned back of his hand, elbow resting atop his knee. His smile was calm, nonchalant, and predatory – that glaze was coming over him, making it quite clear that his mind was else where. Or just a bit more settled in the bed rather than perched on the end.

"I think that so long as I'm clothed we will be pandering to that specification," he said, oozing sexuality. Kadaj was used to it, as all three of his brothers could do it, and he knew his Mother had been able to, even if he hadn't quite developed the power yet. Were he not so immersed in the wonderful bounty of clothing, he would have bristled at that, and probably started sulking again. As it was, he was too delighted.

"The matter is in your hands," he said benevolently, as if he was doing his younger brother a great favour. He was, in a way. He saw the way Kadaj's face lit up at the words, the idea that he had a little bit of power going straight to his head, just as Sephiroth had known it would.

"We-ell," Kadaj began, turning back to the clothes with a startlingly homosexual flourish, "Let's go by texture. Something to go with the leather."

Sephiroth smiled at him gently, running a long fingered hand through his hair, and turned his attention instead to the promise in his head of getting Cloud into bed.

_Soon, Sephiroth. It has to be soon Sephiroth_, the voice growled at him, perhaps around a cigarette, over the high neck of its trench coat.

_It will be soon. Hush._

"… some kinda leprosy, or maybe it was lupus. I don't know," Sephiroth found himself tuning back in on. Kadaj gave a fluid shrug of his shoulders and finally seemed to draw something out of the cupboard, "Anyway, if we're going for annoying the shit out of Cloud, then cover up. I bet this is fitted to you and besides, it's knitwear. That emo fag loves this stuff."

The article the youngest was holding out was indeed knitwear – a rollneck, plain black, completely unadorned. Considering what else Kadaj could have chosen in there, this one seemed a little odd. There was absolutely no maybe about the fact that it would be fitted to Sephiroth, and there was no doubt that the sight of it instead of skin would frustrate Cloud endlessly. Along with the rest of the world. Including, if you believed rumours, the rest of the family. Especially Yazoo.

"Put that one on," Kadaj attempted to Demand, only he couldn't because he did not have The Voice. It reminded Sephiroth, fleetingly, of Genesis, which made him smile, because Kadaj had hated that drama queen. The boy's effort was, much like the second-best's had been, admirable, but simply endearing more than anything else. Sephiroth liked to think of things in such a way that one knew one should hate him for, only one didn't because it was Right that he thought that way.

"Follow it up with your leather trousers. Maybe pull most of your hair into a tail, leaving some strands against the rollneck. See, everyone loves your hair," Kadaj allowed the garments to drop onto Sephiroth's lap, and he reached over to run his fingers through long silver hair. The action was almost as tender as a lover's caress. And Kadaj wondered where all the incest fic in the bandom was coming from. "They just want to stroke it. Think it's perfect. Of course it is. Mother gave you it. But everyone loves seeing it so loose and fanning out. So think of the frustration at tying it all back." He stepped away and tilted his head, "Actually, we could go kinda-sexy librarian here. Like Mother was in that… video…"

Kadaj shuddered there, and Sephiroth's serene expression darkened a little. Despite the fact that any of the siblings would, with no gun pressed to their heads, admit that their Mother was one of the most fuckable things on the Planet, that video was still a Jenova Project video.

"Anyway yeah," Kadaj said, pulling himself out of the memories and reaching behind Sephiroth to loosely hold some of the silky-smooth strands back, letting some fall loose. Teasing. Like the hair was a kind of metaphor for Sephiroth. It's restrained. Wait until you see him loose and wild. Yowza.

"Slip on your reading glasses and you're all set for that look. What do you think?"

Sephiroth didn't respond for a moment, his deadpan expression fixed rather numbly upon Kadaj. _Kind-sexy librarian. That look._ Kadaj had claimed bisexuality, but it seemed pretty certain that Mother wouldn't be getting grandchildren out of him. Perhaps she'd have more luck with Loz or Yazoo.

But he was digressing now, and if he didn't steer himself away from that train of thought he'd likely have her whining at him for offspring, and it wasn't that he didn't adore her with every fibre of his being until the end of time which would of course be caused by her divine self, it was simply that they'd been through it several times. Back, in the days when he was doing three men at once and Jenova couldn't understand why her precious child was doing all that rutting and getting no brood from it.

Doing as he was asked, mainly to appease Kadaj over anything else, he retrieved his reading glasses – delicate wire rimmed things - and slipped them up his nose, enough so that they did not interfere with his sight but did not look ridiculously low.

"Fine," he said, rising to his feet, "Might I leave now? Are you done playing dress up with me, or is there more?" He smiled indulgently, cocking a brow at his youngest sibling.

"I can play dress-up with you some _more_?" Kadaj breathed, his eyes seeming to go glassy for a moment as he clasped his hands in front of himself, as if praying. Sephiroth, godly, all that. The worrying thing was that this was Kadaj who was doing it, who, if not setting himself up to be the one cast down from god's presence, was rather determined to meander vaguely lower.

He snapped out of it soon enough, and then nodded, "Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. Wow. Cloud doesn't know? And you're taking him out for drinks. Is he socially retarded or something?" It was a bit rich, coming from the sons of Jenova herself, but that was how it worked. They might be socially retarded, but they were filthy stinking rich, mind-bogglingly successful and smokin' to boot. Cloud was only one out of the three, so didn't get the excuse.

"He's kinda hot anyway," Kadaj said, in a way that made it entirely obvious that he'd rather like to bone the blond himself, "So good luck with that!" He bobbed there for a minute or so longer, grinning stupidly. Sephiroth allowed it to go on for another minute or so, and then he couldn't take the pathetic stuff anymore.

"What?" He demanded. Kadaj looked stunned. He rallied.

"Do I _really_ have to go to school?"

"_Yes_," Sephiroth responded automatically, "You start on Monday, and you are _not, _under any circumstances, getting out of it."

He crossed to the door, and shot his brother another sleek smile, "Your dinner is in the fridge and requires gentle heating." A dark amusement was laced in his jade eyes, "It's a _salad_."

With a languid wave he exited the room, leaving naught but an indolent 'I'll be back later' in his wake.

--

--

"You can't wear _that_ on a _date_, Cloud," Tifa said disparagingly, alighting from the bed to tug the roll-neck up over his head, "It's almost _moth eaten_, for crying out loud!"

"I hadn't been planning to," he muttered sullenly, but was cut off midway as the buxom brunette gave an outraged shriek at the mess that was his wardrobe. Cloud winced, rolled his eyes, and sat down, defeated, upon the bed.

"It's – all – creased!" She ejaculated at him, "What are you thinking? Ooooh, tomorrow we're sorting this out, buddy boy! Every bit!" Battling through a drawer of tangled jeans, she eventually settled on a dark blue pair, slightly faded over the knees. Smart but casual, she decided. Just right. Chucking the item at him, she began searching for a shirt again. "Okay, we need understated sex…"

"Tifa," Cloud said, rolling his eyes, "This isn't a date. I'm not gay," _Liar!_ "and neither is he," _Oh you just know you're bullshitting now, Strife!_ "He's just interested in my music," _That you make in BED, sonny-jim-laddy-boy!_ "And – I mean – and," He blushed. The voice that had been plaguing him gave a wordless cry of extreme triumph, and Cloud raised a mental middle finger at it. "He's brilliant. That _concert_, Tif'. You should have been. It was _amazing_. The passion he puts into his music… if he could get any more in, everyone in that stadium would have been burnt to crispy critters!"

Tifa paused, holding what may once have been a sleeveless roll-neck but was no just a ball of creases, and simply looked at him for a long moment. Then she turned back to the wardrobe with an airy, "Mm-hm, sure hon. But you still have to dress up for this _totally_ not-date."

"What the hell is a 'not-date'?" Cloud griped. He was certain that Sephiroth wasn't getting this kind of treatment.

"What you're going on! Now, do you think the charcoal gray would be better than the light blue?" She ploughed on before he could even shrug, "We want something casual but sexy. I don't think this black one would do, see."

"Tifa,"

"But maybe the red…? Nah, not with those jeans. Blue or gray Cloud?"

"Tifa."

"What do you think he'll like better? He's a bit monochrome himself, isn't he?"

"_Tifa_."

"Probably doesn't like that in his dates!"

"For the last time, Tifa, we are not going on a d-"

"Oh Cloud! You're gonna lose your butt-cherry tonight!"

Cloud dropped the hand he'd been reaching out to grab her shoulder with and stared, mouth agape, at her. She shot him a brilliant smile and threw one of the tops at him. "Try it on!" She grinned, which was then followed with a "I bet it'll be _delicious_!"

It took several moments for Cloud to really figure out how it was he moved after that, the words 'butt-cherry' and 'delicious' ringing in his head. His fingers had gone decidedly numb, and so had the rest of him, a futile attempt to block it out. If anything, it had only become worse.

"Come on, baby girl, try it on!"

Glowering at her all the while – even through the fabric – he pulled the article on over his head. Tifa was switching to appraisal mode, arms folded under chest, but he was already pulling his boots on.

"Well _fine _then, you look edible enough."

"Are you going to go home before I leave?"

"You rude little asshole!" She grabbed him around the neck and promptly started rubbing her knuckles furiously against his hair. After a momentary scuffle she was gently shoved off, allowing her victim to rise to his feet, bristling like a wet cat. "I'll go, I'll go. Knock 'em dead, sweetpea, and you gotta call me afterwards and give me all the citrus scented details, mmm? I'll only accept one excuse!" She winked at him, and pranced from his room, leaving him to wonder if he was the only person on Gaia who currently knew that Aerith existed and that he was in a relationship with her.

He gave a defeated little sigh, about to move to the living room to ask why the hell she hadn't pissed off yet. He was in the doorway when he heard her squeal. "Oh! Oh-oh-oh!" Tifa cried, sounding like one of those odd NPCs from a Zelda game, "He just pulled up outside!"

All thoughts of smacking Tifa upside the head were gone (not that they would ever seriously be entertained anyway). Cloud's face went bloodless. Sephiroth had agreed to come get him, and he, being a manly guy, had thought nothing of it. Tifa, however, was here. And she would think something of it. Namely that Sephiroth was going to lay Cloud down and fuck his brains out, citrus-scented hair falling over both of them, and that she was going to get all the details.

_Well, she's right about one thing, at least!_

_Listen,_ Cloud said, gritting his teeth, _Will you shut up? There's enough mess in here without you making it worse._

_Do you even know who I am, Cloudy-boy?_

…_I have a sneaking suspicion,_ Cloud admitted glancing downward briefly, but then he followed it with _So just shut up. I'm with Aerith. Aerith. I love her. She turns me on. Not Sephiroth._

_Whatever helps you sleep at night, you cockblocker._

The voice was suddenly replaced by Tifa's exclamation of "Oh. Oh this is _so_ a date, Cloud. He's done himself up for it and everything. I just wanna pull his hair out of that fussy ponytail and pluck myself some tasty cherries!"

Cloud blinked, "… fussy ponytail?" He asked, and was unable to really explain why that image frustrated him somewhat.

Her hands were on his shoulders, propelling him to the door, and he went without struggling, pushed along easily, his expression blank. It had now struck him that he was in fact going to be meeting Sephiroth as a _friend_. They were going to be _going out as friends_. That was _incredible_. _Unbelievable_.

Part of Cloud's mind, the rabid fanboy that wasn't quite as rabid as the other bits of rabid fanboy, mentally gave every other fan on Gaia the finger. _Ha ha_. _Here I go to see the Great Sephiroth._

_Up you all_.

The door was knocked upon, and he found Tifa nudging him to open it. But he couldn't. Sephiroth was right there. _Right there._

Tifa opened the door, did an odd little bob that was suspiciously like a curtsey, and smiled up at the (godly) form of Sephiroth.

"I'm just leaving! Play nice, okay?"

Sephiroth offered a smile as his reply, watched her skip down the corridor, and turned his attention back to Cloud. All onto Cloud. The smile grew.

"Are you ready to go, Cloud?"

The phrase "A-GHIK" would not have constituted for an answer, so Cloud didn't speak for a moment or so, knowing that it would be all he would be able to say. Sephiroth was standing in his doorway. Sephiroth. _The_ Sephiroth. He'd deigned to do this for Cloud. He'd come up to him and suggested they met up sometime. Cloud had fizzed so delightedly once he'd gotten out of his shock-induced coma and found words. The Great Sephiroth wanted to be his friend. The Great Sephiroth actually felt that Cloud was worth getting to know.

That train of thought ran through Cloud's head as he looked at him, but he slowly found that it was being pushed out by the travesty that was Sephiroth completely covered up. And since when did he need to wear _glasses_? Cloud had always been sure that the man's eyesight had been 20/19.4.

It was pretty hot though.

In a non-gay way of course.

"Yeah," he said, nodding once when he had control over himself again, "Yeah. Let's mosey."

For a moment, the blond considered pelting down the corridor and downstairs and out of the building, grabbing Fenrir, and driving himself and his beloved motorbike off a cliff. It seemed the only option in this situation. He'd just said the phrase "Let's mosey". He'd just said it to Sephiroth, who, if you've forgotten, was Great and Godly and other such adjectives all given Proper status.

Sephiroth merely smirked a little, and gave a casual flick of the chin down the corridor, where the sound of Tifa's heels had already disappeared. On one hand, Cloud thought, she might have made a quick exit because she was so convinced this was a date (which was stupid), or - and here his trail of thought soured - she was hiding behind something in the hopes of getting pictures.

The coast appeared to be clear as he walked with Sephiroth, part of his mind desperate to keep him walking beside the ex-general (he needed to seem less like a fanboy and more like possible friend material because even if that was like so totally not going to happen he didn't want to be laughed at) whilst part was unshakably convinced that one should walk behind Sephiroth at all time, because for a start he was the general and Cloud a cadet, for another thing it seemed sinful to not watch the ass, and, of course, Sephiroth was Godly and made Cloud unable to think in any manner but run on sentences.

Abruptly, he became aware that Sephiroth's gaze was turned on him - raised eyebrow, quirked mouth. It made him shudder because he couldn't tell if it denoted private laughter or not.

"How have you been?" Sephiroth asked, so casual it made Cloud feel both entirely at ease and totally on guard, leaning against the wall of the elevator.

Once again, the phrase "A-GHIK" would not have constituted as an answer. Cloud didn't speak again for a little while, trying to calm himself and not seem too flustered and _sweet merciful Gaia on a pogo stick this was Sephiroth in the elevator with him_.

With a faint blush colouring his cheeks (though of course, since Cloud was so pale, the blush wasn't so faint), he finally pulled himself out of those thoughts long enough to answer the question.

"I've been all right," he shrugged. There's our brave little Cloudy-wolf again, tuckering on as always. He was staring rather fixedly at Sephiroth's boots, and to be perfectly honest if Sephiroth demanded that Cloud get down on the floor and lick them clean, he would only have asked if he wanted the soles tongued too. And if he asked him to suck him off, well, Cloud would only drop to his knees and do it with gusto. But he totally wasn't thinking of that and hadn't been picturing it while listening to 'On Your Knees' (Track Four on Geostigma, 4:53 minutes long) at all and for Gaia's sake he was _in the elevator with Sephiroth_.

"I finished recording a video not long ago," he continued, blushing a little more intensely, furious at himself for being such a queer which he wasn't honestly that wasn't semen on the CD covers for Seph – Shiva's sake! "Should be released soon. Hope it's good."

And with those words, something that felt like ice landed in Cloud's stomach and beat its way through him. Oh Gaia. That video. Tifa had said that Sephiroth had been watching. That thought made the icy spark of fear course through Cloud, but also brought undeniable thrill. Sephiroth had been watching him. Him. Cloud. He'd thought he was worth watching. So, even if his blush intensified all the more, so too did the small smile that had sneaked onto his lips.

"But I heard you've seen some of that already, so nothing new."

Sephiroth made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat and nodded, that elusive, unreadable smile gracing his face once more. "Highly entertaining," he said, still infuriatingly ambiguous, "I enjoyed what I saw." It was clear, at the very least, that he wasn't lying. He had enjoyed it.

_I enjoyed it. _

_Quiet, you. Patience, I said. _

Bodily voices hushed for the time being, he looked at Cloud again, briefly eyeing the little wolf-head stud in his ear. He watched the blond until Cloud plucked up the courage to chance looking back at his face rather than his boots - he waited as Cloud squirmed under his unflinching gaze, then rewarded the attempt at eye contact with a smile. It seemed like it would be the most effective way of training him, after all.

"I got your album on tour," he continued eventually, "my beliefs were confirmed. You're very good, Cloud." All of the pauses were purposefully long and awkward, tailor made by Sephiroth to make Cloud writhe in almost physical discomfort. This was partially because of Sephiroth's need for control, partially because when it came to the matters of the mind he could be quite sadistic, and predominantly because Cloud looked damn adorable when he was trying to shrink away out of sight.

Part of Cloud was convinced Sephiroth was lying. This was the part of Cloud that most people who knew and loved him wanted to smack him for, because it was the part that made him say things like 'I'm not fit to help anyone' or 'I let you die' or 'one devotion to an empty moment, can you stay tonight?' – that sort of thing. Those people who did want to smack him would have been pleased to notice that for once, this part was beaten down. Pleased, even if it was by the fanboy part that proclaimed that _nothing_ Sephiroth said was a lie, it was _truth_, it was _right_, and _he was in elevator with Sephiroth for Gaia's sake_.

"Thanks," he said, quietly, after a long (and uncomfortable) pause, "You… don't know how much that means to me," he added, well aware that Sephiroth probably did. He raised his eyes to his again, and was rewarded once more with a smile. It emboldened him.

"Tifa said you'd been watching me film it," he added, back on the subject of the video. "I didn't believe her at first," came the confession, "since she seems pretty certain that I want – " he shut up then. Shut up tightly, because the follow-up to that sentence was _I want you to pound me like yesterday's beef _and he was not going to say that, and in any case it wasn't true.

Even if he knew Barret and Aerith agreed with her in that respect.

Assholes. Cloud attempted to stop himself pouting. It was a jolly good attempt, but Sephiroth was the type of omniscient bastard (read: god) who knew anyway. It was either ten times worse or entirely alleviating that Sephiroth just kept smiling calmly at him. Cloud couldn't decide.

But it didn't even matter right now, because Sephiroth's tongue had slid over his lips before he spoke and _oh hi Cloud_! The voice was back, the Southern Belle with a perpetual '8D' face. He willed it away, but it was stronger than he was. _Lookit that mouth go, huh Cloud_?

"Huh?"

For a moment, he was stunned. This only intensified when he realised it was him that had made the sound. Sephiroth noted this, given as his colouring went from Nibelheim pale with a blush to puce in a matter of seconds. Leading him to his car now, he smirked at him fleetingly. It was almost vicious, and his teeth glinted like those of a predator.

But he was just smiling when Cloud blinked, and so he supposed he must have imagined it, meanwhile Sephiroth eyed his vehement attempts to stop trembling in something that looked almost _exactly _like anticipation.

"I said," he repeated, opening the door for Cloud to slide into his car and crossing to the driver's side to get in himself, letting the wait hang in the air, "she was right. She ran into me outside, after all. Quite… _Bubbly_, isn't she?" Porsche started and not driving down the street, Cloud had a moment where his eyes saw only white, and all he could hear was a frenzied _in his car in his car in his car_!

"I was glad I got to meet you at the WRO," he went on, placid as ever, sparing a moment to eye Cloud, "I'd been looking to do so."

_In his car in his car in his car in his – oooooh really now?_

Cloud blinked slowly, trying to shut out the voice. He put a hand to his head and kept it there, hoping it looked like he was merely leaning his head there. Sephiroth would probably see right though it, of course. Cloud wouldn't have had it any other way in his fantasies, after all. Except maybe with less clothes and more groping. _No. Right? No. Still straight. Always straight. Always had been. Heh._

"I'm glad." He said, bluntly, not rudely and not coolly at all. It was abrupt, as if more words wanted to tumble out of his mouth and he had shut it just in time to trap them. He kept it shut for a moment or so longer before trying again. "Well, uh, you know that. I've always been a fan of you…r music." He realised it was a little late to add that in, but just saying 'of you' made him seem like those freaks in the Silver Elite. Who, by the way, had some information _wrong_. Berks.

He smiled slightly, even though the butterflies were still rolling about in his stomach as if drunken. "So hearing that from you… I… Mm." He nodded. "Thanks." He gave himself credit that he wasn't tripping up, and was glad that Tifa wasn't here. She'd be using this exchange to write bandslash, complete with build-up that had all the subtly of a mythical WEAPON monster with toothache.

"But…" Cloud shrugged again, "Why? I know you liked – liked Zack –" he didn't plan to dwell on it, "but we never really… spoke." Mainly because Cloud couldn't. And, predictably, thinking about Zack made Cloud think about how little like Zack he was, and how maybe if he was more like him Aerith and the whole world would like him that bit better. Which, of course, made him feel inadequate and pointless.

Shithead.

"I'm not that great," he angsted, looking down, "Nothing… special."

Sephiroth's smile slipped minutely, and he found himself spiking an eyebrow in Cloud's direction as he drove. There was, of course, no danger of crashing. By this point it's unlikely that even crossed your mind.

"Then why are you here?" He asked, as though thoughtful, a droll smile tugging at his mouth. "I'm not in the habit of wanting to take out just anyone, you know." His tone held something quietly admonishing, before he laughed again.

"You think far too little of yourself," he mused aloud, looking to the road again. Midgar had an abysmal traffic system with its labyrinthine road network. Learners usually went to the nearest towns outside of it in order to learn how to actually drive. And then decided it was better there and moved permanently. Upper Midgar wasn't _big _on the whole friendly residential scheme, aside from some scattered apartment blocks stuffed into every sector, and a selection of townhouses at the outside of Sector One, which had started off as apartment blocks, bought out by the rich and famous (Shin-Ra executives really) and knocked through to make houses. It was, of course, one of these that Sephiroth dwelled in.

"You've got talent. There's a song or two of yours I'd be interested to try myself. You don't seem like a total moron. _He _used to babble about you endlessly. I was curious, I suppose."

_I'm here_, Cloud found himself thinking a little numbly, _because according to Tifa,_ _you want to spread my legs and fuck me 'til I'm sore and bleeding, and you're just too smooth to do it any other way than 'wooing'_.

That was the first thought that passed through Cloud's head at Sephiroth's first question. The second thought, which started just after 'you think far too little of yourself', wasn't really one that he had expected. He couldn't quite shake the image of having to brace himself against a table whilst Sephiroth thrust relentlessly into him, holding him up when his knees gave way. It caused another puce flush to erupt over his face. Not, of course, that it did anything for him – _Liar, dahling! _– but the thought was incredibly private. And he supposed he could see why some people would like the image – if you liked guys it might not be that bad. And he didn't. Heh. Just for the record. Didn't like them. And was getting kind of sick of having to validate that where Sephiroth was concerned.

Anyway, it was probably a good thing that these totally not-gay thoughts had blotted out the mention of Zack, for it would have sunk Cloud into yet another stupor of festering post-hardcore anguish, and that might have ruined the chances he had to impress Sephiroth. Interpretation open. They had also blotted out the mention that Sephiroth wanted to cover a few of Cloud's songs, because that would have made him explode, and the car was really too nice for that sort of mess. Again, interpretation open.

He gave a half shrug, grabbing onto the last thing he remembered (and no, that wasn't an image of white fingers on his hips and silver hair spilling over his shoulder) and hoping he wouldn't make himself sound like a total tosspot

"Nothing to be curious about," he said with a shrug, still fighting the blush, "Just ask and I'll say." He chose this moment to sneak a glance at Sephiroth, who was looking between him and the road. Rather than worry for his safety due to the fact that the man behind the wheel wasn't paying attention to the road, his heart just swelled and he thought _Sephiroth is so damn cool._

"Where are we going?" He asked, not sure if he had before.

"Somewhere in Sector Eight I was very glad to discover still existed." Rightly so. He'd been devastated to find his previous tailor had died, because Sephiroth, in his denouncing of his own humanity five years ago, had neglected to remember that men nearly one hundred would not live for long at all. As it was he was stuck with some Gongagan who drawled about how sleepy he was and was constantly trying to get him to don a poncho because they 'make you happy, sí sir, and this is so your colour, very you, sir, holy hell I'm so sleepy.'

And the leather trousers were nowhere near second skin enough for his tastes, even if aforementioned Gongagan was pretty damn skilled with a needle – and deserved props for being able to see despite the shadow cast by his hilariously wide brimmed hat. Thus he had donned an old pair tonight, because those were _snug_. He liked them _snug_. And he knew Cloud did too. Happy days, as Zack used to say. Traitorous bastard.

Before his expression soured he looked at Cloud, and managed to keep the smile on his face.

"Oh right," came Cloud's reply, noticing the tiny drop in Sephiroth's smile and wondering about it. Should he ask him how he was? It seemed a bit sacrilegious, asking Sephiroth how he was doing when he'd already said he was fine. That and Cloud wasn't the type to ask anyway; he was simply the type to worry.

On the other, brighter hand, he was pretty giddy at the idea of going to a place which was supposedly one of Sephiroth's old haunts. Well, no, he was giddy anyway, but it was only intensified by such a thing.

"I've never really been to a pu – bar. Restaurant. Type thing."

As true as it was he couldn't help but cringe at the way he worded it. Hopefully Sephiroth would kick him out now, so he could bounce along the road, hopefully get run over, smacked into a lamp-post, and wake up in the Lifestream and say to Zack 'The Chronicles of Zackland sucked and I hate that I couldn't stop reading them'.

He wanted this to happen because being pinned by a dead Zack was better than being roasted alive by a living Sephiroth, don't you know. You pleased with our subtlety yet?

Hopefully not, because there's likely a lot more where that came from.

Sephiroth tilted his head just slightly so that he was able to watch him again, because as a pastime, watching Cloud was pretty entertaining. He tried to be so stoic, but his face failed him. It was so expressive that he encountered a vast range of different expressions, all of which he tried and failed to stifle. It was made even more amusing by the fact that Sephiroth was quite sure Cloud had no knowledge of the fact that he was doing it.

He smiled. It was a worrying look, once again because it was totally ambiguous. Cloud's humiliation already weighing heavy on his shoulders, he took it for granted that it was mocking. But Sephiroth didn't laugh, nor did he comment.

He did, however, smirk at how Cloud had turned faintly puce. It was supposed to be more comforting than it was – a lot of Sephiroth's methods of Emulating Humanity turned out that way. At least he made an effort. Occasionally. It was more than the bastards deserved as far as he was concerned. He was quite fond of Cloud though, in an odd way. Where Zack Fair had been the type of person who everybody crushed on at some point, Cloud was the one everyone dreamt of noogieing. There was something infinitely noogiable about him.

"Are you alright?" He asked, after another of those long pauses tailor made to have Cloud squirming, not that it was necessary.

For while he might have looked infinitely noogiable, Cloud was also beginning to look slightly green around the gills. Motion sickness had hounded the man ever since his childhood and combined with the lurching of his stomach and jiggling of his nerves caused by Sephiroth, it was coming into play here. Cloud hated how easily he was succumbing to it – always had. Most modes of transport had him like this (motorbikes motherfucking _excluded_, of course) and he was mortified to be feeling it around Sephiroth.

He compressed his lips into a thin line and nodded, a feverish blush creeping over his cheeks, feverish not because of the motion sickness but because of the nerves. The slightly green tint to his skin was all thanks to the motion sickness. The one good thing about it was that the damn Southern Belle seemed to have shut up for more than ten minutes.

"Fine," our brave little hero replied untruthfully. A part of him (read: most of him) was well aware that Sephiroth would know it to be a white lie – not because it was very obvious, you understand. Sephiroth would know because that was what Sephiroth _did_. That, made wonderful music, slaughtered an entire people, mothered his little brothers and gave Cloud a raison d'être. Anyway, he realised that Sephiroth would know he was bullshitting, and so swallowed and added, "Just motion sickness."

"That's lucky," Sephiroth seemed to smirk, and once again Cloud thought about dying in some overly elaborate fashion to escape the shame. One of those long pauses lasted, during which Cloud was picturing himself tying lead weights to his feet and throwing himself into a river, before Sephiroth said "We're here."

He was watching him with one silver eyebrow raised, and Cloud found himself staring back, far too doe like than he'd usually be comfortable with. Why was he being watched? Why was he staring back like Bambi may, if he was more post fucking hardcore?

But Sephiroth only smiled a fraction and nodded, as though he'd confirmed something (Cloud's welfare, as it happened, not that _he'd _be informed of that) before sliding out of the car, which was parked before one of Midgar's many tall buildings. Cloud looked up at it for a moment. Midgar never ceased to make him think of a jungle, a forest, all the plants striving for light and survival.

Whilst Sephiroth wasn't looking, he drew a recorder from his pocket (one of those ridiculous little click and speak things that Tifa had personalised with chocobo stickers) and clicked, before speaking into it, in a soft, distant voice, the voice of the artiste. "Forest. Striving for the sun. Striving to live, to survive. Don't make it, you die. You're nothing."

"Are you coming, or should I just leave the air conditioning on in my car?"

--

--

Cloud stumbled slightly drunkenly into his apartment a few hours later, mind fizzing and heart fit to bursting. In one hand he was tucking away the key to his apartment, and in the other, clenched tight, he was holding a piece of paper with Sephiroth's phone number neatly penned onto it. _For when you want to talk_, the silver haired god had said, smiling in a slightly leery manner as he had pressed it into Cloud's hand. Cloud had scribbled his on the back of a napkin and then stared into his flirtini, wondering about how amazing life is when Sephiroth wanted to speak to you.

He'd had a few flirtinis that night – not enough to make him absolutely sloshed, but enough to give him a pleasant buzz. This buzz made him feel that he didn't have to rationalize being a straight man and buying flirtinis and feeling kind of thrilled when Sephiroth bought him some as well. Thrilled in the way that made the Southern Belle proclaim triumph (she had said something along the lines of "_I will never go hungry again!_").

But now he was back home, and his Sephiroth filled brain was only going _Sephiroth Sephiroth Sephiroth_ and not at all letting him consider phoning Tifa like she would undoubtedly bitch in the morning that he had promised to. He simply made his way over to his sound system and turned it on, letting the sounds of 'For the Reunion' wash over him.

Cloud had been stumbling to and from places ever since Zack had died. At one point, he'd even managed to convince himself that he had _been_ Zack, and it had taken Tifa to catch him out on this and gently persuade him back to himself, and then into therapy. Aerith had supported it, but Cloud could never shake the feeling that she had always been comparing him to Zack. He often wondered, somewhat angrily, why she thought someone who left her to bang Angeal Hewley and Genesis Rhapsodos was a better boyfriend than he was, but then would agree with her in the same heartbeat. He felt a let down to practically everything. He felt like he had been dead those past years.

Someone out in the street was blasting a Jenova Project song from their car (it was Tseng, actually, but Cloud wasn't to know this). As it drew nearer, the sound eclipsed the beginning of "You Have" (Track Two on Geostigma, 3:55 minutes long). A scowl flashed across Cloud's face, but then he heard Jenova's voice singing the line "_You make me feel alive_". It was haunting in its beauty (and rare, for a Jenova Project song, to have no mentions of sex and monsters and sex with monsters), and Cloud found that it, his favourite song by Sephiroth's Mother's band, rounded up what he felt about the man himself.

Sephiroth made him feel alive. He was the only thing worthwhile.

And if you readers thought that that was some bad juju, you're going to be thrilled to know that as the car cruised by, 'You Have' was audible again. Sephiroth's voice, low and as haunting as his mother's had been, singing out '_Will you until death does sever, be obliged to her forever_?'

"_Forever_," Cloud breathed alongside Kadaj, Loz and Yazoo, his eyes glowing a faint green in the darkness.

--

--

The lights were still on. This was a bad sign. If the lights were on, it meant they were still up. If they were still up, it meant Kadaj was still up, and he had _school _tomorrow, didn't he _know_ how imperative to efficiency it was that he got a good night's sleep?

He locked the door behind him, and found Kadaj materialising in front, grinning brightly.

_Too brightly_.

"Hi," he said, his voice so abrupt as to be likened to a pneumatic drill, and took a breath before he started rattling off. "How did it go? What was it like? Did you sleep with him? Did you kiss him? Does he worship you? Nyuh, nyuh, we just stayed home, nyuh. Watched tv. Nyuh. Cid Highwind blew up some Jumpers, nyuh, you should have seen it, we taped it though, wanna come watch, nyuh, Mother's really awesome isn't she? Why don't you – nyuh – come into the sitting room and tell me how awesome she is 'cause I meant you know more than I do nyuh do you want some chocolate cake we have left overs, nyuh, nyuh."

Sephiroth waited until the cackling giggles subsided, eyeing Kadaj levelly all the while. Kadaj grinned. Sephiroth's brow rose incrementally higher.

"What did you do?"

"What?" Kadaj gave another laugh, folding his arms over his chest and avoiding eye contact. "Why would you say that, nyuh, I mean, nyuh, we've just been watching tv like I said, nyuh, oh and played some Mario Kart, nyuh, Yazoo's crap at it, nyuh, ny –"

"You've been eating pizza, haven't you?"

"No, not, not really, I mean –" Kadaj slumped, defeated. "Yeah. Salad sucks!"

"Healthy eating is important, Kadaj."

"I _know_." He kicked his foot. "I'm sorry."

It was over too easily. Sephiroth's eyes narrowed.

"What else did you do?"

The laughter restarted, bubbling forth from Kadaj's throat like a really annoying indoor water feature.

"Nothing! Nyuh, nothing at all!" He was backing up, as though to block Sephiroth from going upstairs. Instinctively, Sephiroth started moving forward. "Can ah – can – nyuh – you show me how some moves for Souba? Or um – um –_ whatdoyoulike_ – cooking! Show me cooking! Or let's go talk about Mother, nyuh, kay?"

"Get out of the way."

"Wha – why? Why, Seph? Let's stay down here. Come on. Party time!" Kadaj started moving; apparently trying to emulate the 'interpretive dance' that Yazoo was so fond of. Sephiroth glowered at him. He wasn't very good, for a start. "Please stay here? Or um – hey, can we go look in your wardrobe again?"

"Have you got a _girl _here?"

"A _girl_? _Me_? Nahahaha, nyuh, hell no Seph, big brother!" He punched Sephiroth on the arm, putting on his best endearing look. It was hideous. "Why'd I have a girl? I've been uh – studying! Yeah! And getting my stuff ready for tomorrow!"

"I thought you were watching tv?"

"Studying nature! Yeah! Nothing teaches you about nature like Cid Highwind, nyuh,nyuh, nyuh…"

Sephiroth gently shoved him aside and started stalking upstairs.

"Hey! Hey, come back!"

Kadaj scrambled after him. It was too late. His bedroom door was thrust open, the light went on.

Kadaj's girlfriend, Clarissa, lay on the bed. She was fully dressed, which was a blessing. She was also, however, apparently unconscious, and there was a bite mark on her neck. It was bleeding.

Sephiroth sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Behind him, Kadaj tittered.


End file.
